Courage Rising
by merlynthegrey
Summary: 3rd through 7th year story, generally canon but with plenty of AU-goodness. Harry struggles to survive his ever-violent relatives during the summer before his third year at Hogwarts. He dreams of Hogsmeade visits and stumbles through the murky waters of steadily growing and complex relationships. Darkness looms in the distance but will they see the darkness lurking from within?
1. Ministry Delegation

**Author Note:** Well, here we are; the start of my new story. For those new to my writing, I am also currently writing Harry Potter and the Hallows of Death, which you can find on my profile page. This story will begin in 3rd year and continue all the way through 7th, so it's a much larger undertaking than my other story. It will feature Harry and Hermione as an eventual couple, a slightly more pro-active Dumbledore but still within character, and a slightly different Fudge among many others. As a general rule of thumb, my plot will follow the general plot already established in canon, but will take a great many rabbit trails and be more AU. IF you are looking for a completely AU story, this is not the story you're looking for.

You'll also see a darker story here; more violent Dursleys, more blatant prejudice, a greater exposure to political maneuvering, and of course, a truly terrifying Voldemort. Harry will be a bit more pro-active but alas, no Super-Harry will make an appearance in any story I write. Before you ask, yes; Horcruxes and Hallows are in this story, but they are not as significant as they are in canon. You'll just have to trust me. Anyway, hope you enjoy the start of the journey.

As always; none of this is mine, but rather, JK's. She was the mastermind. I just came up with a few tidbits to turn it on it's head.

 **Chapter One: Ministry Delegation**

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry was strangely abuzz with activity for the summer holidays. Much of the castle was ablaze in light, a bright beacon upon the hill overlooking the black lake in the darkness of the early twilight morning. Most prominent, however, was the tower where the Headmaster lived; a multitude of shadowy figures illuminated by candle light could be spotted in the study windows.

Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster, Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards, Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, Order of Merlin, First Class recipient, and considered the greatest wizard of the modern age, descended down his dorm stairs and into his lit study, still in his purple and star-patterned pajamas and greeted his late and unexpected visitors.

Cornelius Fudge, Minister of Magic, sporting his green bowler and ministry robes stood at the front of the delegation gathered in the study. Dolores Umbridge, Senior Undersecretary to the Minister stood to his left, and to his right, Head of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, Amos Diggory. Also present was a member of Dumbledore's staff; Minerva McGonagall.

"Minister, Amos, ladies," greeted Dumbledore, taking a seat at his expansive oak desk while placing his half-moon spectacles neatly upon his crooked nose. "What pleasure brings you to my study before the sun has risen?"

"Very unpleasant business, I'm afraid, Dumbledore," said Cornelius. He was already twirling his bowler hat in his hands. "We shall be here for some time," he added, looking at the solitary chair before Dumbledore's desk.

"I see," said Dumbledore with a smirk. "If the news is as unpleasant as you say, we had best make ourselves comfortable." He withdrew his wand from the sleeve compartment of his pajama shirt and lazily flicked it once and several, upholstered chairs appeared. One by one, each delegation member took their seats.

"Well, Cornelius, your secretary intimated it was vital that we meet," said Dumbledore, twirling his wand absentmindedly. He caught the nervous looks Dolores was giving him; he rather enjoyed making her uncomfortable.

"The unthinkable has happened," said the minister, twirling his bowler faster than before. "We've had an escape from Azkaban prison." Dumbledore stopped twirling his wand and his mirthful expression faded as his electric blue eyes narrowed.

"I confess that is unsettling," said Dumbledore soberly, "but surely a prisoner escaping is little cause to wake me prematurely. Much of the prisoners held within Azkaban are as dangerous as the next, so you will forgive me if I remain curious; owl post would have sufficed." The minister shuffled uncomfortably in his chair before he spoke again.

"The prisoner is Sirius Black."

"You're sure," asked Dumbledore who briefly shared a glance with his deputy.

"I'm afraid so, Dumbledore," said Fudge. "And I regret to say it only gets worse."

"Brandy it is then," said Dumbledore. He stood and walked over to the cabinet nearest to the desk and procured a dusty bottle. He gave a quick wave of his wand and several glasses appeared and poured themselves. Dumbledore waved his wand once more and each glass found a recipient.

"Thank you, Albus," said Amos gratefully. "Madam Rosmerta's?"

"Actually, no," said the headmaster as he resumed his seat. "This is from a charming Muggle Village in France. They call it Cognac; I confess I am nearly as fond of it as I am lemon drops."

"Thank you, professor Dumbledore, but I think I'll abstain," said Dolores with a forced smile and quickly abandoned her glass.

"Ah, but of course," said Dumbledore as he banished the glass. "Forgive me, Dolores; I sometimes forget that you are not fond of anything associated with Muggles."

"As well as we all should be," said the undersecretary. "We are neither part of their world as they are not part of ours."

"Madam Undersecretary," replied Dumbledore kindly, "You do realize that even the alcoholic beverages from our society might never have existed if not for Muggles?"

"Perhaps this is not the time, Albus," said Minerva sharply. Dumbledore gave her a nod.

"Yes, quite right, forgive me. Cornelius, please continue."

"Yes, well, as I was saying," began Cornelius, who unlike Umbridge, appeared to greatly enjoy the brandy, "according the prison guards, the Dementors noticed the cell vacated sometime before midnight. They searched the island top to bottom; he was nowhere to be found. I have already alerted the Muggle Prime Minister, of course—mind you the reporters at the Prophet didn't appear pleased, as I suspect neither will many within the Wizengamot—but as they did not find him, we must assume he escaped the island and is already on the mainland. It was only right that all of Britain be on guard."

"I did warn you, minister, not to alert the Muggles," said Umbridge. "Our more prominent members of society will not take kindly to it; there was little reason to involve them. More importantly, we must be careful to avoid painting a narrative of non-magical cooperation."

"Madam Undersecretary, while you are free to disseminate your blood supremacist views and isolationism with those of like-mind, I will not tolerate it in my study." Dumbledore was not angry, but everyone present easily recognized the warning in his voice.

"Dolores, please, we have much more important matters to discuss," said Cornelius.

"Yes, of course, Minister," replied Umbridge. "Forgive my outburst, Headmaster." Dumbledore gave her a courteous nod before Fudge continued.

"Amelia has already alerted the whole of the DMLE, so the Aurors are at this very moment, on the lookout and stationed at every major wizard settlement he's likely to visit. We've alerted all Ministry registered wand makers as well since Black will most certainly attempt to procure one, which brings me to the heart of tonight's visit." He paused and gave Dumbledore a long stare.

"Harry Potter," said Dumbledore soberly. He needed another drink. His glass appeared to agree and poured itself a second round.

"I'm afraid so, Dumbledore," said Fudge sadly. "We must be sure he is protected."

"Sirius Black will not be able to cross the wards upon the house," said Dumbledore confidently.

"Forgive me, Headmaster, but how can you be so sure," asked Dolores. "Black was one of the finest Aurors the Ministry had before he showed his true allegiance—yet you are confident that Mr. Potter is safe with the protections you have provided? It's not my intention to cast doubt upon your skills and expertise, Headmaster, but surely you see why the Ministry would seek assurances? Mr. Potter is the savior of our world and there would be severe fallout if Black were to finish what he started thirteen years ago."

"Dolores," hissed Fudge. "I am not concerned with Harry's protection while he is home—the specifics of his protection were provided thirteen years ago by Dumbledore and sealed upon review by Bagnold, Crouch, and a select panel from the Wizengamot." He turned back to Dumbledore. "My concern is the protection once he leaves home."

"I see," said Dumbledore. "You believe Hogwarts a target for Sirius?"

"I have good reason too," said Fudge. "As you know, it is my unfortunate duty to periodically inspect the prison—most of the inmates go mad within the first year or so under the Dementors—but Black, well, he was almost normal."

"The Dementors were not affecting him?"

"Hard to say," acknowledged the Minister. "I think he was certainly unhinged with the defeat of You-Know-Who; I was there as you recall when we found him, laughing over the remains of his once counted friend, Peter Pettigrew."

"I remember well," said Dumbledore.

"Yes, well, when I last visited Azkaban I was astounded by how…sane Black appeared. I visited with him momentarily. We had a short conversation. He asked if he could have my paper…missed the crosswords, he said. To be blunt, Dumbledore, he appeared bored. Speaking with the prison supervisor, however, it turns out that Black mutters in his sleep. For years it's been the same, they tell me…always rambling apologies to James and Lily…guilt I'm sure…but recently…"

"Go on," encouraged the headmaster.

"Sometime after my visit he began saying something completely different; _he's at Hogwarts._ "

"Most peculiar," said Dumbledore as he was now standing and began to pace. "So Black has escaped from Azkaban, under his own strength and apparently able to ward off the effects of the Dementors without the aid of a wand. Unsettling news indeed, Cornelius."

"You agree the boy has to be protected."

"Naturally," said Dumbledore. "But I fail to see what further protection he can be provided; while he resides at home, it is impossible for Lord Voldemort or any Death Eater to cross the wards, and then he will be aboard the Hogwarts Express. Once he is here, Black will have a difficult time infiltrating the castle, let alone laying hands on Harry. Of course, there is other protection that is unfit for present company to know."

"Perhaps," said Fudge, "but all the same, we cannot ignore the tempting target the boy makes for Black; wherever Harry happens to be will be a potential target. I am prepared to act as is necessary."

"What is it you are prepared to do, Cornelius?"

"I will station Dementors at Hogsmeade and Hogwarts, of course."

"I will not permit a Dementor on Hogwarts grounds, Cornelius. They are foul creatures that are as unreliable and untrustworthy as those they guard. Do not forget their loyalty was first to Lord Voldemort."

"You have my assurance they will not interfere with the day-to-day operation of Hogwarts," said Cornelius, his voice raising to an uncomfortable pitch, but he held his ground none-the-less. "We'll station them at every gate and the perimeter of the grounds. The idea is to prevent Black from setting foot on Hogwarts grounds, or at the very least, capture him in the act. I know how you feel about them, Dumbledore—I'm as uncomfortable with them as you are—but this is a serious matter."

Dumbledore looked uneasy. He had reservations about the Dementors self-discipline to refrain from the temptation a school full of students would present. Dementors posed as much a threat to the students as Black.

"Very well," said Dumbledore, knowing that Cornelius could very well go the school board to push the issue. If he agreed, he could at least negotiate more favorable terms and set clear boundaries. "We can discuss the details at a later date, but for now you have my cooperation."

"Thank you, Dumbledore," said Fudge clearly relieved. "With any luck, we'll capture Black before the start of term and we can put this all behind us."

"I most certainly hope so," agreed Dumbledore. "Minerva, would you kindly schedule a staff meeting over lunch? We'll need to make preparations of our own."

"Of Course, Albus," replied McGonagall.

"Is there anything further that requires my immediate attention, Cornelius?"

"Not for the next few hours, at least," said Cornelius apologetically. "I suspect I shall need your services as Chief Warlock later in the morning to make the Dementor transfer official. As Amos is Head of the department that oversees control of the Dementors, I'll leave him to go over the finer details with you while I deal with the journalists."

"I'm afraid I don't have much for you at the moment, Albus," said Amos equally apologetic. "We haven't even begun preparations for a transfer as we wanted your approval first. I'll be in contact as soon as I have more details. There is one matter I must speak to you about, however."

"Very well," said Dumbledore.

"It's about your recent appointment for the Defense against the Dark Arts position, Remus J. Lupin."

"As I'm sure you're aware, the board has approved the appointment of Mr. Lupin," said Dumbledore. "He will be a fine addition to this staff, regardless of Lucius's prejudiced objections."

"Apologies, Headmaster," said Amos quickly, "I'm not here to criticize your hiring methods. I'm only following up with a concern of a former board member. They have cause for worrying; hiring a werewolf is dangerous on its own—to place one in the same vicinity as children does not appear very wise."

"Werewolves are dangerous, hideous beasts," said Umbridge. "You do not trust Dementors to safeguard this school, yet on the other hand, seem perfectly content to expose them to the dangers of a highly unpredictable and dangerous creature."

"A werewolf, Remus may be, but he is a human like you or I, first," said Dumbledore, looking angry for the first time. "As a boy, he attended this school with his condition with minimal incident. Furthermore, we are now able to treat the dangerous aspects of his transformation with the Wolfesbane potion, made by our very own and very capable potion's master. I see no issue with his appointment."

"And what of his certification," asked Umbridge.

"What of it," asked Dumbledore, the edge in his voice steadily growing. "As Headmaster, I am afforded the authority to determine the merit of applicants; Remus' war record also speaks for itself. In regards to certification, Both Quirinus Quirrell and Gilderoy Lockhart had glowing certifications and endorsements, yet were no more fit to teach than Lord Voldemort. Finally, in light of recent events, Remus is the best candidate for the job."

"What do you mean, Albus," asked Amos.

"Remus would give his life to protect Harry."

"What interest does a werewolf have for protecting Mr. Potter," asked Umbridge.

"Friends, Madam Undersecretary," said Dumbledore simply. "James Potter had several friends at school and later in life, among them; Sirius Black, Peter Pettigrew, and Remus Lupin."

"I see," said Amos. "Well, as the board has already approved, and Cornelius signed off on the appointment, I don't see any reason to object any further. That concludes my business for now, Albus." Dumbledore nodded.

"Well, we've kept you long enough, Dumbledore," said Fudge.

"I shall see you to the gates," said Dumbledore.

"I can attend to that, Albus" said Minerva. "You'll be needed soon enough."

"Thank you, Minerva," said Dumbledore. "Before you go, Amos, I would suggest you remind Lucius he is no longer a member of the Board of Governors; as such, he should not be privy to such information in the first place. Good night."

"I'll be sure to remind him," said Amos with a nod.

He waited as Minerva led the Ministry delegation out of his study before stepping over to his candy dish. He popped a lemon drop into his mouth and started to pace again. His mind and heart were uneasy.

"Why now, Sirius," he asked himself as he came to cabinet containing his Pensieve. He pulled it out and brought it back to his desk. He placed the tip of his wand to his temple for a moment, his eyes closed tightly shut and spoke the incantation softly.

" _Subsidium, Memoria._ " A moment later, a slim strand of glowing blue material stuck to the tip of his wand as he pulled it away from his temple. He flicked the substance into the Pensieve and swirled it once as an exact replica of the night's events appeared before him. He swirled it again. This time, the image was replaced with the face of an eleven year old boy with a lightning bold scar on his forehead. He looked down upon the image sadly.

"I'm running out of time, Harry," he said to the flickering image. He looked back to his desk where the damaged diary of Tom Riddle sat undisturbed, an object that worried him immensely and raised far more questions than it answered. Dumbledore loathed divination, but even he had to admit fate was conspiring against the boy. Indeed, the Penseive reflected his thoughts as the face of another person swirled into view; a woman wearing large glasses and dressed in several shawls with a crystal ball. He flicked his want in frustration.

"He's still just a boy," he said to himself. "Are you even aware of the fate you've given your godson, Sirius?" Another image swirled; Harry was standing before the mirror.

"A boy with a destiny and a great and terrible responsibility, Albus," said the portrait of Armando Dippit. "You cannot ignore it." Dumbledore did precisely that and ignored his predecessor. Many of the portraits were stirring now but Dumbledore's face was glued to the Pensive as another image swirled into focus. A voice echoed from the basin.

 _"I trust Sirius, Professor," said James, his young face defiant and brave._

 _"I am perfectly willing to be your Secret Keeper," said the Headmaster._

 _"Thank you, but it won't be necessary; Sirius will be our Secret Keeper."_

"I'm so sorry, Harry," said Dumbledore aloud. "If I had only known then…"

Far to the south, hundreds of miles away, the boy named Harry Potter woke from troubled sleep.


	2. Stranger on Magnolia Crescent

**Author Note:** Thank you, everyone, for the follows, favorites, and reviews. I'm enjoying this story and really looking forward to putting this on it's head. As always, feel free to review, or post an outrageous objection (so long as it's constructive).

As always, it's JK's.

 **Chapter Two: Stranger on Magnolia Crescent**

Harry woke in the early morning hours to the rain splashing on the glass of the small window in his small bedroom inside Number Four, Private Drive. He groaned as he gently pushed his blankets aside, the tenderness in his back a painful reminder of last night's events. Now thirteen years of age, Harry considered his early teenage existence nothing short of extraordinary and had been accomplished with no shortage of luck.

His birthday had started well enough; letters had arrived from Ron and Hermione, his best friends from Hogwarts, in the middle of the night, each carrying well wishes and presents. Ron was away in Egypt with his family as his Dad had won a Ministry grand prize. Ron had given him a Sneakoscope, a device that supposedly was supposed to detect someone untrustworthy around. Even now, several days later, it remained, silent, balanced on its point. Harry suspected it didn't go off because if there was anything he was sure of, it was that his relatives were not the sort of people to go out of their way to conceal their true feelings and intentions toward him.

Hermione had outdone herself, which truthfully had not surprised Harry. She had written a lengthy letter about her time in France where she was learning a great deal about Witchcraft. She had also gifted him a premier broom servicing kit that Harry was very eager to put to use. To the outsider, the words, witchcraft, Sneakoscope, and Hogwarts, would be perplexing. But to Harry, these words were as normal as could be. For Harry Potter was not a normal boy.

He was a young wizard in training and attended one of the most ancient and prestigious schools of magic known. Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry—the only place he considered home and was a haven from the prison in which he currently resided; Number Four, Private Drive, Surrey. Here, in the place of his relatives for which he had lived eleven years and every summer since his admittance to his magical school, he was lowly, unwanted, uncared for, and in no unequivocal terms, despised and hated with reverent passion. But Harry Potter was not feeling particularly lucky at the moment; Aunt Marge was visiting and was the reason Harry was slow to move from bed.

Uncle Vernon loved recognizing Harry's birthday; it was an opportunity his uncle took to "beat out the freak" in him. Vernon held adamantly to the belief that fate would one day pour out its blessings and honor his consistency. This year, however, Vernon had not been alone; Marge had graciously taken him up on his offer to visit earlier than planned to help Harry celebrate reaching his teenage years.

Marge rarely visited Number Four, but Harry doubted any of her visits would ever fade from memory. She was every bit as large as his uncle; beefy, an indiscernible neck, and wore a permanent scowl on her face. This alone made Marge unpleasant company on the best of days. No, what made Marge terrifying was her desire to hate him even more than the relatives he lived with.

Marge also had a dog named Ripper and was without doubt, Marge's animal counterpart. The bulldog certainly had her temperament towards him, as evident by the scar in his left ankle from the last encounter during Marge's previous visit just before his blessed Hogwarts letters began arriving. He had spent nearly all day in the tree, his sock stained red from the blood Ripper drew.

But no one was aware of the secret suffering of Harry Potter. He had never confided in anyone; not his primary school teachers, his head of house at Hogwarts, and especially not his best friends. He was never really sure why he kept it hidden. Part of him was ashamed; despite being magical and fully capable to defend himself from his abuse, his wand and everything remotely related to his "abnormality" was locked away in the broom closet beneath the stairs. He would be remiss to deny that an even smaller part of him was determined to remain unbroken. He was not going to show weakness. And so it was, as Harry gingerly rose from his bed and found his glasses, prepared himself for the final day of Marge's stay.

Breakfast was a drawn out affair. Harry, doing his best not to stimulate the bruises and welts on his back, moved slower than Marge appreciated as he served up heaping piles of breakfast sausages onto three large plates.

"Hurry it up, boy," Marge beckoned. "Not all of us have the liberty to loiter about uselessly; Dudders needs his protein—can't have him scrawny like you."

"Of course, Aunt Marge," said Harry, his mind focused on the Hogsmeade permission form that Vernon had promised he'd sign if Harry stuck to the story and kept him "abnormality" from Marge. Ignoring the pain, then, Harry picked up his pace and hurried to the stove for more sausages. When Marge and the Dursleys had their fill, there was naught a single sausage left for him. They retreated to the living room, leaving him to clean their dishes. Harry managed to catch some of the news broadcast.

"…Sirius Black, previously incarcerated for mass murder and conspiracy with a known terrorist organization, escaped from a high security prison last night. The public is warned that Black is likely armed and dangerous. Authorities urge anyone who may come across Black not to approach him, but to call the hot line and remain out of danger…"

"Like what you see, boy," said Marge, catching his gaze. She pointed a stubby finger to the television set. "This is the life you'll lead, I suspect, if you don't shape up." Harry glanced at the television. The man pictured was grim indeed; his black hair was long, matted and mangled, his face shallow and tight-skinned. However, it was the convict's eyes that unnerved him; the unnatural glow of his pupils seemed to illuminate the deep dark sockets were his eyes rested.

"I'll do my best, Aunt Marge," said Harry, hopeful she'd leave it there, but he should have known better. Marge never missed an opportunity to prescribe areas of improvement.

"It's damn good of my brother and Petunia to keep you, you know," she said after a sip of tea. "If you didn't sulk as much as you do, you might leave here with some semblance of civility and make something of yourself. Mind you, wouldn't have done it if you'd been dumped on my doorstep," she added slurping her tea, "would have been straight to an orphanage."

Harry managed to find a brief respite after breakfast and did not have to brave Marge until supper time, as they had all went into town for the final day of Marge's stay. Harry had even avoided helping Petunia in the kitchen as she cooked a fancy dinner.

"I don't want you messing up the evening," his aunt had chided when he asked if she wanted any help. "Just stay out of the way until dinner." So, as Vernon prepped several bottles of wine, Harry made himself scarce until he was summoned for dinner.

Petunia didn't disappoint, Harry grudgingly admitted, as each course was presented; soup, salmon, lemon meringue pie. Harry was even hopeful the night would pass without incident; he could already see his signed permission form and was looking forward to visiting the village with Ron and Hermione. So Harry quietly cleared the table of the dinner dishes and cleaned the table with careful precision, hoping as he did so, to make a good last impression with Vernon while avoiding anything that would prompt the ire of Marge. As the evening drew to a close, Vernon brought out a bottle of brandy.

"Night cap, Marge," he asked.

Harry wondered if such a thing was wise; his aunt was already flushed red from several glasses of wine.

"Yes, thank you," she said, her scowl turning briefly to smile. "Go on then," she said, urging Vernon to continue pouring, "I'm not a delicate flower."

"But of course," said Vernon, pouring himself a glass and resuming his seat. Marge eyed her nephew fondly as he drove his fork into a fourth piece of pie.

"Easy does it, son," chuckled Vernon.

"Nonsense, Vernon," said Marge, taking yet another sip of brandy. "You'll be a proper-sized man, won't you Dudders?" Dudley only nodded his head as his mouth was filled to bursting point. She held her glass to Vernon who poured another drink. "Yes, you'll be a strapping good man like your father. Unlike this one," she added, throwing a glance in Harry's direction. Harry caught his breath. _Not now,_ he thought. He had been so close.

"This one's got a runty look about him, scrappy, scrawny, almost mutt-like," she said, nodding in agreement with herself. "See it all the time with dogs; some are just born weak, underbred, ratty and useless. I had Colonel Fubster drown one last year—wasn't worth the effort to take to the pound. It all comes down to blood, you know, and you mustn't blame yourselves with how the boy had turned out." Harry tried to busy himself at the sink, desperate for anything to distract him.

Marge reached over to Petunia, her fat bulging hand resting on her bony one. "It's not your family, Petunia, but bad blood will out. Your sister was a bad egg in the coop, a rotten apple far from the tree if you will—happens to the best families. Then she found herself a weasel, probably as bad blooded as her. The boy's just the result of that." Harry glanced to Vernon behind Marge's back, hopeful to get permission to leave the room, but all he received was an angry glare with plenty of warning. _You'll stay put or else._

"Where is it you send the boy again," she asked, having now consumed half a second brandy.

"St. Brutus's," said Vernon pleasurably, "They are experts when it comes to hopeless cases."

"I see," she said, her eye catching Harry. "Do they use the cane at your school, boy?"

"Yeah," said Harry, knowing this would only please Marge. "Yeah, they use a cane."

"Marvelous," she said. "A good beating is what's needed in ninety-nine cases out of a hundred. Have you been beaten?"

"Yeah," repeated Harry, catching the encouraging nods from his uncle. "Yeah, I've been beaten." Marge narrowed her eyes.

"Not often enough, it would seem," she said skeptically. She turned to Petunia. "I'd write if I were you—make sure you intimate they are at liberty to do all that is necessary—won't have this nonsense about not beating those who deserve it."

"Yes, yes, quite right," said Petunia nodding.

"This Potter, though, the boy's father," she continued after draining the third brandy, "I don't recall you saying what it is he did for a living?"

"Oh," said Vernon, his eyes slightly wide with worry. "He, er, didn't—didn't work; unemployed, I believe." Harry forced his eyes shut as he scrubbed the next plate with all the strength he had.

"There you have it, then, Petunia," she said loudly, belching afterward, "your sister, runs off with a mongrel, and lands you with this burden," she added, her eyes darting at the back of Harry's head. "That's the trouble these days, you know; parents who simply don't care how decisions affect everyone else."

Harry could take no more.

"My father wasn't a mongrel," he said, his voice quiet but steady.

"More brandy," said Vernon as the pupils of eyes retracted and his face purpled. He shot a glare to Harry and barked his command. "You boy; go on up to bed."

"No, no, Vernon," said Marge, setting her empty glass down and pushing the chair back. She stood and gave Harry an all-to-familiar look. Her face stretched menacingly as a slim smile grew on her lips and her eyes glinted malevolently. "The boy's got to be proud of something—it may as well be his loser of a father."

"My father was a good man," said Harry, his voice growing stronger as his fists clenched.

"Your father was a low-life, good-for-nothing, hooligan, who, along with your rotten-blooded mother, got themselves killed in a car crash and left you a burden on my good-hearted brother and sister-in-law!"

"They didn't die in a car crash," said Harry, his own anger rising to meet Marge's drunken rage.

"They died in a car crash, you lying, insolent, ungrateful child of a bastard," she screamed, her face turning the characteristic Dursley purple. She launched herself from the chair—a miraculous feat in itself—and grabbed the metal soup ladle. Before Harry could react, Marge had struck him upside the head with considerable force, sending him flying across the kitchen and onto the tile floor. Harry could feel the dizziness coming on. His head throbbed immensely as the blood rushed past his temples.

"You haven't changed one bit," said Marge, stepping towards him as she tapped the ladle into her open hand. "Vernon and Petunia put clothes on your back, food in your stomach, and a roof over your head, yet you show not the slightest ounce of gratitude. Instead, you're proud of the parents who dropped you on this household's doorstep, parents that left nothing for you, leaving all the responsibility on my dear brother and his family." She stepped forward again.

"You're nothing but an abandoned pup that should have gone straight to the pound, like the stray you are," she said, leaning over him now. "But my brother has a bigger heart than he should. So, we'll just have to sort you out a different way." She raised her arm high, the ladle glinting beneath the kitchen light. Harry raised his arms and prepared for what would come next, but it never came.

"MARGE," bellowed Vernon. Harry lowered his arms to look.

Marge's face had swollen into a great balloon, as had the rest of her. The buttons on her jacket were shooting off in all directions, bouncing off the china and walls of the kitchen. Her fingers resembled the sausages from breakfast that morning. Then, to Harry's surprise, she began to float. Ripper barked and chased after his master as Vernon and Petunia both latched onto a leg while Dudley fell from his chair, spilling the remnants of pie over his clothes.

Harry leapt to his feet and raced up the stairs to his bedroom. He wrenched open the loose floorboard beneath his bed and grabbed the pillowcase full of his smuggled books and quickly stuffed his birthday presents inside. He grabbed Hedwig's cage and bolted back down the stairs and came to the cupboard beneath the stairs. As soon as he had reached the cupboard, the locked door burst open. He quickly heaved his trunk out onto the kitchen floor and retrieved his wand. Harry ignored the commotion of the kitchen. He hurried past it all and wrenched the front door open and stepped out into the darkness.

 **( ) ( ) ( )**

Several streets later, the magnitude of the night's events fell upon Harry as his anger faded away. He was in serious trouble; he was alone, stranded, with nowhere to go and without the means to get anywhere remotely useful. More worryingly, however, was that he had done serious magic. He had broken the most stringent and strictly enforced laws of his world; the Decree for the Restriction of Underage Wizardry and the Statute of Secrecy.

Harry didn't have any Muggle money; the Dursleys would have tossed every penny they possessed into the ocean before they gave Harry a single cent. So Muggle means of transportation was beyond him even if he managed to find a lowly taxi cab. He had a few Galleons at the bottom of his trunk, but were worthless in the Muggle world. As far as Harry was aware, there was no magical transport other than brooms or Apparition. While he had an Invisibility Cloak, it would not cover his broom and would only serve in breaking the secrecy statute further.

He couldn't owl for help either; he had sent Hedwig away several nights ago once he'd found out Marge was coming to stay. Hermione was in France, so even if he knew her telephone number, it wouldn't do any good at the moment. He looked down both ends of Magnolia Crescent; he truly was alone. The street was dead silent without a single light shining from any of the nearby houses.

Then, not far away, he heard the clang of dustbins from the ally. Instinctively, Harry raised his wand high and gave a deliberate short flick.

"Lumos," he said. A bright light appeared at the tip of his wand, illuminating the whole of the house nearest him. He was quite surprised, as he had only read about the spell from one of the spellbooks he'd smuggled out early during the break. The spell lit all of house 390, bathing the stone fascia in brilliant light. Nothing stirred. Harry lowered his wand, prepared to extinguish the light when he saw it; a flash of shadow to the side of the house. He raised his wand a second time, towards the bushes between the garage and the house. It was brief but he caught a large shadow dash from the bushes into the darkness of the alleyway. Whatever it was, it was too large for a stray cat. Quickly, Harry fastened Hedwig's cage to the top of his trunk and grabbed the handle with his free hand. The hairs standing on the back of his neck told him it was time to move. He extinguished his wand light and headed down the street at a quick pace, the only sound coming from the tiny wheels at the bottom of his trunk as they rolled along the concrete. Then he sense it; the long shiver that ran down his spine. He was being watched and followed.

Had the Ministry already caught up with him? Where they waiting for their opportune moment? Harry came to a halt, and slowly lowered his trunk. With his wand gripped firmly, he spun around and shouted the only defensive spell he knew.

"Expelliarmus," he shouted. But there was no wand to send flying into the air, nor was there anyone around him.

"Nothing there," he said to himself. But his heart continued to beat at an accelerated rate and the hairs on the back of neck remained standing. Then he saw it again; he caught the flicker of a shadow in his peripheral view and turned to follow it. He relit his wand and bathed the street in light. Again nothing was there.

"You have good reflexes," said a hoarse voice. Harry spun around to meet the voice. The stranger stood in the middle of the street, between the park and the sidewalk Harry stood upon, his haunted face staring hungrily at him. His clothes were tattered and frayed, with the black and white stripping of his prison uniform faded. His matted and dirty black hair reached past his shoulders. But it was the eyes that made Harry so uncomfortable; eyes that knew darkness Harry could only imagine.

"You're the one on the television this morning," said Harry, doing his best to remain calm, but his shaking hand gave him away. "You're Sirius Black."

"Very good, Harry." Black took a step forward, smiling as the waxy skin on his face distorted all the features of his face.

"How'd you know my name," he asked, his wand now pointing at Black.

"No one told you," he asked. Harry was sure he imagined it, but the stranger looked almost hurt. But Harry had little time to think about it as Black procured his own wand and drew it upon Harry.

"You're a wizard," said Harry. It wasn't a question.

"Not anymore," said Black sadly. "But I had to see you, didn't I?"

"I don't understand," said Harry. His heart felt heavy. Any moment now, it would all be over.

"Watch your back, Harry," he said simply and before Harry could think or react, he saw Black's wand slash into the air. He didn't hear the incantation as Black hadn't shouted one, but he felt an invisible force push him back, sending him backwards over his trunk as he landed on the hard concrete. The light at the tip of his wand expired and there was a loud bang.

Harry couldn't believe his eyes; sitting there in the middle of the street as though it always had, was a brightly purple colored, triple-decker bus. Gold lettering adorned the side of the bus: The Knight Bus; emergency travel for the stranded witch or wizard.

"Welcome to the Knight Bus, your emergency transport for the stranded witch or wizard," said the man leaping from the bus. He wasn't much taller than Harry and was dressed in a uniform of purple that matched the bus. "My name is Stan Shunpike, and I'll be your conductor this evenin'." It was only then that Stan noticed Harry lying on the ground.

"What you doin' down there," he asked, dropping his professional tone.

"Fell over," said Harry.

"What'chya fall over for?"

"I—" but Harry wasn't sure where to begin. He looked past the night bus where Sirius had been moments ago, only to see the prisoner had gone.

"Well get in, get in," said Stan irritably. "We can't wait for the grass to grow, can we?" Stand helped Harry load his trunk and stepped aboard.

"Where you be headin', son?"

"Leaky Cauldron," said Harry; it was the first place that came to mind.

"Right, well, take a seat," he told Harry.

"Take it away, Ernie."


	3. Split Pea Soup

**Author's Note:** You'll notice a bit of change to Fudge's character, because I've always felt, at least in books 2 and 3, it was more apparent that Fudge was much more agreeable with Dumbledore than he was later portrayed in GoF and subsequent books. Fudge was always asking Dumbledore for advice, and the simple truth is, you don't advice from people you don't respect. Not to mention I think he had more backbone than later portrayed as well; he stated his opposition when Dumbledore was asked to step down from Hogwarts, and he refused to step down to Voldemort at the beginning of HBP.

Besides, having a more benign and gentle Fudge means it will be more fun to have a ministry turn against Harry when it's led by someone other than Fudge. Won't say anymore about that, but it's going to be a great ride when we get there. (Gandalf's Beard does an excellent Umbridge-led Ministry, for those curious, but I've got someone just as deliciously evil in mind).

As always, hope you enjoy, and it all belongs to Rowling.

 **Chapter Three: Split-Pea Soup**

Harry did not care for the Knight Bus. He didn't like the lack of proper chairs or safety restraints, especially after Ernie had pulled back on the several levers protruding from the dash which then sent the bus lunging forward as though a rocket had been fastened where the exhaust had once been. However, he had received a warm welcome from Stan and the bus driver, Ernie, both of whom had almost immediately recognized the lightning bolt scar once Harry had settled in on his bed.

"Well bless my soul, if it isn't Harry Potter," Ernie had said once he'd adjusted his telescopic glasses. "Stan, give Mr. Potter his money back."

"Thank you, but that's not necessary," protested Harry. "You got me out of a tight spot; I'm more than happy to pay."

"Way I see it, Mr. Potter," countered Ernie, "is that you got the whole bleedin' world out of something much worse than a tight spot. So long as I'm drivin' this bus, you won't pay a Knut." Reluctantly, then, Harry had taken the coins Stan presented him with and stuffed them into his jeans pocket.

Once the bus was moving, though, gravity appeared to function properly. Harry was able to sit upright on his bed with little disturbance. He was fascinated at how the bus easily maneuvered through the narrow streets and slipped impossibly between oncoming traffic. He truly loved magic when it was displayed in this manner. Stan had an open copy of the Daily Prophet, his eyes darting in untraceable directions, which hadn't surprised Harry, being familiar with the paper's eccentric layout. However, it was man framed on the cover of the paper that jolted Harry back to his senses.

"Sirius Black," he said, the hairs on the back of his neck standing again, "He was on the Muggle news this morning." Stan furrowed his brows at Harry, turning the paper over for a moment, nodded, and handed him the paper.

"Nasty business, Sirius Black," said Stan with a low whistle. "Wouldn't want to meet him in an alleyway." Harry shifted uncomfortably as he took the paper. He wasn't about to admit he'd done more than see Black.

 **BLACK DOES THE IMPOSSIBLE**

 **DARK ARTS OR AN INSIDE JOB?**

 **By: Rita Skeeter**

 _Sirius Black, among the most infamous prisoners to be held in Azkaban fortress, was confirmed this morning as having escaped the isolated prison, and most notably, the Azkaban guards. More worryingly, however, is that Black is now likely on the main island._

 _"Last night, it was brought to my attention that noted mass murder, Sirius Orion Black, escaped from his prison cell sometime just past midnight," said Cornelius Fudge, Minister for Magic, during a lengthy and emergency press conference this morning. "The Ministry had already taken several actions to ensure the recapture of Black as quickly as possible."_

 _Among the several actions the Ministry is taking, the Minister was reported as having met with the Muggle Prime Minister, alerting the entirety of Muggle Britain about Black's escape. This was met with severe criticism by many prominent members of the Wizengamot, notably, Lucius Malfoy, as well as select members of the International Federation of Warlocks._

 _"Those of us familiar with Black's history recognize the immediacy and responsibility to alert anyone who might come into contact with him," Fudge said to reporters. "Sirius Black, despite his incarceration over the last decade and then some was once among the Ministry's top Aurors, and, frighteningly, has discovered some way of slipping past the Azkaban guards without notice, remains a terrible and credible treat."_

 _Fudge further assured the magical community that the Muggle Prime Minister has given his word not to breathe a word of Black's true identity._

 _"Let's face the truth; who'd believe him if he did anyway?"_

 _Albus Dumbledore, acting in his capacity as Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, was among the few who rose to Fudge's defense._

 _"It is my belief, that truth is preferable to lies, or false comfort," the old wizard told reporters. "I extend my full-hearted endorsement with the Minister's decision to alert the whole population of Britain. While some in my chamber, and elsewhere, have argued the Minister's decision is a breach to the Statute of Secrecy, I remind all of the magical community that it is our responsibility to see to the safety of our Muggle brethren, which, incidentally, was brought into being to provide safety to Muggles and Wizard-folk mutually, and not to the exclusivity of the magical community."_

 _Albus Dumbledore, was unable to assure those dissenting within the Wizengamot, and it's easy to see why when one looks closely. One wonders if the strain and pressure of the many prestigious and powerful positions Dumbledore currently holds hasn't yet addled his brains. Once heralded as the greatest wizard of modern times, and most famously known for his defeat of Grendelwald, it would appear to the magical community that Dumbledore may be losing his touch and his senses._

 _Despite the Minister's assurances, this reporter remains skeptical. Still, it cannot be denied the Minister has cause to take all the precautions he thinks necessary. The magical community is likewise right to be fearful in light of Black's escape and the possible exposure of our world to the Muggles. Many of our readers will remember all-to-well the massacre in Muggle London twelve years ago, when Black murdered thirteen people with a single curse._

 _How did Black escape Azkaban? No one has ever done so since the Dementors were placed at the prison after the fall of You-Know-Who. Is Black's escape the work of his own Dark Arts expertise, or is there more to this escape? Black was a known supporter of You-Know-Who—as were the Dementors—so it begs to question if Black's escape wasn't an inside job to begin with. This reporter will do all in her power to find out._

Harry looked back at the haunted face of Sirius Black. He'd never seen anyone look more dead on their feet than this man.

"Frightenin', isn't he," said Stan, taking the paper back from Harry.

"He murdered thirteen people," asked Harry, "with one curse?"

"Oh yeah," said Stan, whistling again. "Broad daylight, center of London, all in front of dozens o' witnesses. Caused a right mess of trouble for ol' Bagnold, didn't it, Ern?"

"Aye," said Ern with a shiver. "Happened right after You-Know-Who disappeared. Minister Bagnold was completely blind-sided. Heck, everyone was, you know—the dark days were over, they thought—then, whole loads of innocent people, gone in a flash. They never did say what curse was used, but, it was nasty."

"Wasn't nothin' left o' those poor people," said Stan. "Half the street was gone too. Gas explosion, they told the Muggles. Wiped their memories first, o' course, but that wasn't the wors' of it."

"What could be worse than murdering thirteen people," asked Harry.

"He laughed," said Stan, shrugging his shoulders. "Jus' sat there on his knees, hands up in the air, wand dropped on the ground, and laughed. He didn' put up a fight with the Aurors—just kept on laughing. He's a mad man, isn't he, Ern?"

"If we wasn't before Azkaban, he is now," said Ernie with a shiver. "I'd blow myself up before I'd set foot in that place."

Harry sat quietly after that, his mind playing over and over his brief meeting with Black. Why hadn't Black just killed him? He'd done much worse before, in broad daylight. But he at least had some answer as to why Black knew who he was. He had been one of Voldemort's. Had Black blamed him for the demise of his master? Even if that were true, the question remained; why hadn't Black killed him?

The Knight Bus made several more stops in various places throughout Britain, unnoticed by Muggles. Witches and Wizards alike descended from the spiral staircase above as they reached each destination, each looking very glad to disembark from the bus. Finally, Harry was the only one left on board.

"Leaky Cauldron is our next stop," said Ernie, with a nod back to Harry. With a final bang and powerful lunge forward, the Knight Bus whisked off into the blurry night. It wasn't more than a minute before the Bus came to a screeching halt in the dark alleyway where the Leaky Cauldron quietly waited. Stan dislodged himself from his seat, as did Ernie, both shaking his hands and expressing once more their honor for escorting Harry to the Leaky Cauldron. Harry pulled out the coins once more, before they could protest and stuffed them into the coin slot by the driver seat.

"For the next passenger," said Harry quickly. "Just don't tell them it was from me." Ernie gave him a toothy smile and a final nod as Stan tended to Harry's trunk. Harry stepped down from the bus only to find a shadow standing the doorway of the Leaky Cauldron.

"There you are, Harry," said the voice from the shadow. The stranger stepped out into the lamp light, wearing a green pinstriped cloak and matching bowler hat. Harry had walked right into Cornelius Fudge, the Minster for Magic himself.

"What'cha looking for 'Arry, for, Minister," asked Stan.

"Not really the concern of the Knight Bus, is it," said the Minister politely, but with a tone of finality. "But I thank you for bringing Mr. Potter safely to the Leaky Cauldron. Harry, if you'd follow me inside? It's best we not linger outside overly long, given, well, the current state of things."

"See you, 'Arry," said Stan with a short wave as the Knight Bus exploded into motion again and swiftly disappeared into the thin air whence it came. The Minster placed a hand on Harry's shoulder and guided him sternly and swiftly into the pub, having already enchanted Harry's luggage to levitate behind them.

The pub was mostly vacated; Tom the barman tended the counter while the night staff cleaned the tables. The clock on the wall told Harry it was quickly approaching midnight.

"You've got him, Minister," said Tom, looking up. "Thank goodness."

"Yes, yes," said the Minister. "The Knight Bus picked him up."

"Will you be wanting anything, Minister," asked Tom. "Beer, or perhaps your favorite Brandy?"

"Not tonight, Tom," said Fudge with a small smile. "Perhaps just some tea, and ah, yes, some of your Split-Pea Soup and Crumpets for Mr. Potter and myself?" He gave Harry a quick wink and led him up the stairs and into a well-prepared room with an already lit fire. Fudge took a seat at the large desk nestled beneath a crooked window and proceeded to offer Harry a seat as well.

"Please, take a seat, Harry," he said, his tone surprisingly light and friendly. Tom entered the room not a moment later, an apron hung hastily over his nightshirt and with a tray of tea, steaming soup bowls, and crumpets.

"Thank you, Tom," said Fudge.

"My pleasure, Minister, Mr. Potter," he said, bowing low before leaving the room. Fudge immediately poured them both a cup of tea, and buttered a crumpet for himself before speaking again.

"Apologies if I've startled you, Harry, but I am Cornelius Fudge, Minister for Magic." Harry found himself unable to speak, so he merely nodded and smiled, meanwhile ignoring the frantic pace of his heart. He should be on his way to Azkaban for the magic he had performed so short while ago.

"Well, Harry, you'll be delighted to know that Miss Marjorie Dursley has been attended to by the Accidental Magical Reversal Department. She has been safely punctured and her memory modified. She will have no recollection of the incident what-so-ever."

Harry tried to say 'good,' but words were still failing him.

"Ah, you are worried about your relatives reaction," said Fudge knowingly. "Well, Harry, they are certainly displeased, but as we have explained to them, accidental magic happens to the best of young wizards and witches. I would suggest you stay at Hogwarts for the Christmas holidays, to let tempers cool."

"I always do," said Harry, finding his voice.

"Every family has their disagreements, Harry," said Fudge with a nod. "It's natural. Now, all that remains is to decide where you're going to spend the last few weeks of your summer break, I would suggest a room here, at the Leak Cauldron. Tom would be more than happy to see you attended too."

"You aren't taking me to jail," asked Harry, his outburst a surprise even to him.

"Jail," asked Fudge, his eyes brows jumping in surprise. "Why would you be going to jail, Harry?"

"I broke the law," said Harry. "The Decree for the Restriction of Underage Wizardry!"

"Harry, you did accidental magic," said Fudge. "The Ministry does not go about throwing people in Azkaban for a bit of emotional magic, particularly from a wizard or witch early in training."

"But what about the Illumination Spell, and the Disarming Hex I used back on Magnolia Crescent?"

"The Ministry is overlooking those instances," began Fudge, who still maintained his gentle smile. "It is quite clear that any spell work you performed were the results of panic and desperation, having already contended with the undoubtedly traumatic experience with your aunt. I confess I'm curious as to why you felt need to perform a Disarming Hex in the first place."

"I saw him, Minister," said Harry after a moment.

"Saw who?"

"Sirius Black," said Harry. The pinkish hue of Fudge's cheeks whitened immediately.

"You're sure, Harry," said Fudge, losing his jovial tone. He tapped his wand to the parchment on his desk and immediately, a quill dabbed itself into an open ink bottle and began scribbling notes.

"I felt like someone was watching me, following me," said Harry. "I did the only thing I knew how too, knowing it was my only chance, only I didn't think it was Sirius following me."

"I see," said Fudge, resting his chin on his clasped hands. "You thought it was us following you?"

"Yeah," said Harry. "I broke the law and was running away."

"Did Black speak to you, Harry, or do anything? Any detail is important."

"He knew my name," said Harry. "He seemed, I dunno, hurt when I asked him how he knew my name—I'd only seen him on the television that morning. He said I had good reflexes, and something about 'them not telling me,' whatever that was about. Then he drew his wand on me."

"I was afraid he'd procure a wand," said Fudge solemnly. "What did he do then, Harry?"

"I thought he'd kill me for sure," said Harry. "But he waved his wand—didn't hear the spell because he didn't say one—and I was pushed back and tripped over my trunk. That's when the Knight Bus appeared."

"Merlyn's beard, said Fudge. "Harry, do you realize how lucky you are to be sitting here right now? We are fortunate indeed that the Knight Bus turned up when it did. That was quick thinking on your part, calling them."

"But I didn't know I'd called them," said Harry. "I didn't even know the Knight Bus existed before tonight. Stan explained it to me once I'd gotten aboard. If Black hadn't sent me over my trunk, I wouldn't have raised my wand arm…"

"Then we are lucky indeed," said Fudge. He looked over to the parchment and nodded.

"Er, Minister," asked Harry.

"Yes, Harry?"

"Can I ask you a question?"

"Certainly," said Fudge, turning his attention back to Harry.

"I know I'm famous for this scar," said Harry, as he searched for the right words, "and practically everyone knows who I am, but, something about the way Black spoke to me, it just, well, does Black have any particular interest in me? It seems strange that I'd be the first one to come across an escaped convict from Azkaban." Fudge looked at Harry with an expression he knew well, for he'd seen it many times; pity.

"Well, Harry," began Fudge with a deep breath, "I'm not sure I'm the right person to speak about this, but I'll tell you what I can." He got up and walked around the desk, gave his wand a flick and another identical chair appeared next to Harry's. He took that seat, removed his bowler hat and poured another cup of tea.

"I don't suppose you've had an opportunity to read the Prophet, have you," he asked.

"I did," said Harry, "on the Knight Bus."

"I was one of the first responders to Muggle London after Black had blown up half the street. It was a terrible sight, just terrible. The war had ended, or so we thought. Black's massacre was the first of several other horrific reactions by You-know-Who's remaining faithful after he'd disappeared. Black was one of his most faithful, devoted followers, Harry, and he'd stop at nothing to see you dead."

"But why," asked Harry.

"For any number of reasons," said Fudge sadly. "I don't say this to frighten you, but to give you caution. There are several of You-Know-Who's followers locked away at Azkaban that would be only too happy to be given the same chance Black let slip this evening. A lot of prisoners go mad if they are in Azkaban for an extended period of time; it's a truly terrible place, Harry, truly terrible, but for criminals like Black, well, it's no less than they deserve. The families they ripped apart, the thousands of innocents they tortured and murdered, well, you yourself have suffered from their cruelty. It is my belief, Harry, that Black is convinced he can bring You-Know-Who back to power again if you are defeated, just as you once defeated the Dark Lord. Its madness, silly, deranged thought, but that doesn't matter to Black. To him, he lost everything the night You-Know-Who lost his powers, and he, like so many of his kind, holds you responsible for that loss. I know it's a lot to take in at such as age, but, you deserve to know you are a target."

"Now, as I said earlier," Fudge continued, standing again, "I'll have Tom prepare a room for you until the end of your summer holiday. You're free to explore Diagon Alley, but I have to ask you not to stray out into Muggle London. We can't protect you as well there. Ask Tom if you should need anything." Fudge checked the notes his quill had jotted down and proceeded to leave the room, but not before he spun on his heels and addressed Harry a final time.

"I'll be sending a correspondence to Dumbledore, Harry, since he's your magical guardian, and he'll no doubt wish to speak with you when you return to Hogwarts. There are more complicated matters regarding Sirius Black, and he is the one who should tell you." Having said his final sentiments, Fudge waltzed from the room, leaving Harry to his thoughts.


	4. Rita Writes Again

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** Here were go and moving right along. Firstly, to those who have messaged me; yes, I am aware and saddened by the passing of Alan Rickman. He is without doubt, among my favorite actors, even before he was and forever will be known as, Severus Snape. I have a really good tribute chapter coming down the pike in his memory, but it will be a few chapters before we get there in a logical fashion.

Secondly, thanks for the all the follows, reviews, and messages. I'm glad many of you are enjoying the story. Just a friendly reminder, as some folks are getting their canon and fanon mixed – Dumbledore did not know that Peter was the Secret Keeper, nor is he an overly manipulative old man who sealed the Potter wills and vast fortune for the sole purpose to control Harry and his relatively modest wealth.

Thirdly: we have not seen the last of the Dursleys, though readers will have to suffer them far less than canon – I won't tell you how that comes about exactly, but we will entertain them for one more summer.

Lastly: it all belongs to Jo, so enjoy!

 **Chapter Four: Rita Writes Again**

Tom had set Harry up in room eleven upon the conclusion of his meeting with Fudge. Aside from his belongings already in the room, Hedwig had also turned up, feathers ruffled and looking considerably annoyed with her owner. The Leaky Cauldron was comfortable and Tom had seen to his every need. Breakfast, for instance, Harry found, was an enjoyable and peaceful time without the Dursleys, as he neither had to cook or risk the chance of going hungry.

However, it was his newfound freedom from any responsibility Harry enjoyed most. True to his word to Fudge, Harry did not stray back into Muggle London, choosing instead to spend his free time in any number of the fascinating wizarding shops that were crammed impossibly tight together along the long and narrow cobbled street of Diagon Alley.

Harry's first order of business had been a visit to Gringotts, the Goblin-controlled Wizard's Bank, where Harry restocked his coin bag with stacks of Galleons, Sickles, and Knuts. Wanting to have as much free time as possible in Diagon Alley as he could, Harry first completed his school shopping. He visited the Apothecary first; Potions Class was his least favorite of all the subjects taught at Hogwarts, and he would be the first to say he was probably the potion master's least favorite student of all time. His visit to Madam Malkin's had been much more enjoyable than years past, as Malfoy was noticeably absent. His final stop that day had been Flourish and Blotts, also a noticeably quieter affair than the previous year, or so Harry thought as he entered the old book shop.

A large iron cage exhibit obscured the front window that housed nearly a hundred or so copies of The Monster Book of Monsters. Torn pages flew between the iron bars and littered the floor as every book battled with one another like arena gladiators. Indeed, the violent books were such a distraction to the store owner he hardly looked up to register that Harry had entered the office. Instead, he had rushed to the iron cage while dressing his hands with thick hide gloves. The man had been so relieved to learn Harry had already procured the book that he insisted Harry take a discount on the rest of his school books.

Of all the shops in Diagon Alley, Quality Quidditch Supplies was his favorite to frequent. Everything he could ever imagine could be found on one of the many shelves inside the squeezed shop. There were climate-controlled carrying bags for his broom, reinforced foot saddles, handle wraps enchanted with warming charms, and much, much more. However, it was the shop's latest arrival that most tested Harry's unbridled freedom; The Firebolt.

"This one's a prototype," Thomas, the shop owner, told Harry after his third visit of the week. Thomas was an elderly wizard, member of the International Association of Quidditch and retired Quidditch referee. Despite his old age, Thomas retained his Chaser build and a very well attended-too mustache. "And you, of course, are Harry Potter, youngest Seeker in a century to play on one of Hogwarts house teams, yes?"

"How did you know that," asked Harry, shocked.

"My dear boy, everyone knows who you are," said Thomas with a chuckle.

"No, I mean, how'd do you know I was a seeker?" Thomas let out a hearty laugh this time while clapping Harry loudly on the back.

"Ah, well, the International Association of Quidditch always sends representatives to all the major wizarding schools throughout the world," said Thomas. "You see, the IAQ is supported from membership dues paid by every team that competes for the World Cup—part of the agreement is that we keep a limited profile on young fliers that play for their schools. You, Mr. Potter, are among the top tier candidates. Don't be surprised if a team or two begin courting you around your sixth year or so."

"I had no idea," said Harry truthfully.

"Yes, we do try to keep from being a distraction," said Thomas. "You currently fly a Nimbus Two-Thousand, if memory serves me correctly? I do believe the order was made to this shop at the time."

"My broom came from this shop," asked Harry.

"It did indeed," said Thomas with a proud nod.

"Who ordered it?"

"A professor from Hogwarts," said Thomas. "Of course, I can't tell you who, as that's a confidentiality issue, but I can say the professor is quite fond of you." Harry had always suspected that Minerva McGonagall had purchased the broom for him, but he had never had the nerve to ask. While Harry was treated well by most of the professors, only Dumbledore and McGonagall had ever shown him more than cordiality.

"Anyway," said Thomas, gesturing enthusiastically to the Firebolt, "There are several enhancements you'll find on this broom over your Nimbus series—which, by the way, is still a league standard broom—particularly notable is the focus on its durability. This broom is virtually indestructible. Many brooms have met their end from colliding into audience stands, I can tell you. Seen it happen plenty of times." Thomas took the broom from the window display and held it out to Harry.

"Go on," he said with a large smile, "you can hold it." Hands trembling, Harry took the Firebolt in hand and was immediately surprised by the feather-lightness of its weight. The handle was incredibly smooth and the finish glistened beneath the sunlit window.

"No need to be timid," said Thomas, "your fingers won't be able to smudge the wood either—diamond-dust polish on hand-selected Mountain Ash, imported from Australia. The builder selected the wood species due to its high durability and resistance to decay. And if that wasn't enough, each Birth twig of the broomtail was individually selected and honed aerodynamically before it was attached to the broom handle. Most people are only commenting on the speed and acceleration of the broom, which is impressive, but I'll tell you what really sets this broom apart, Mr. Potter." He took the broom back and set it back on its window display.

"What makes this broom special is the turning precision that comes with the speed—the rider can change direction almost as quickly as a Snitch does—that's the true marvel of this broom."

"How much is the broom," asked Harry, no longer able to deny his desire. Thomas chuckled and ruffled the hair on Harry's head.

"It's a bit too much of a broom, even for someone with your talent, Mr. Potter, at your age," said Thomas. "I'm afraid only the professional teams have the kind of budget to purchase one of these. But since you're asking, I'll tell you; its six-thousand and ninety-eight Galleons, fourteen Sickles, and eleven Knuts. There's also a growing waitlist. However, for an additional and modest one-thousand Galleons, you can purchase preferred status, and the builder will include a climate-control carrying bag specially made for your Firebolt and will have your name engraved into the handle." Harry felt his jaw drop. This made Thomas chuckle as well.

"That's the typical response I get, even from our more affluent customers," said Thomas. "Tell you what, Mr. Potter, how about I treat you to a broom-servicing kit? What do you say?"

"Thank you," said Harry, "but I actually just got one for my birthday from a friend at school."

"Oh, what product did they get you?"

"Fleetwood's," said Harry happily.

"I see," said Thomas. "Someone evidently did their homework; I endorse their product myself."

"Well, Hermione never does anything without having thoroughly researched it," said Harry with pride for his friend.

"She's a keeper, Mr. Potter, in more ways than one," said Thomas with a knowing smile.

"Oh, no, I don't mean, she's not," began Harry, his tongue feeling quite unwieldy, "she's just one of my best friends, that's all."

Of course, of course," said Thomas with another clap on Harry's shoulder. "Well then, how about one of these then?" He handed Harry one of the enchanted handle wraps in Gryffindor Red.

"How much," asked Harry.

"Absolutely nothing, and I won't take no for an answer," said Thomas. He pushed the package into Harry's hands and sent him on his way.

Harry's second favorite place to frequent was Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlor, where he spent his afternoons completing his summer holiday assignments. Florean, like Ernie and Stan, was ever insistent that Harry never paid for anything so long as he owned the parlor. So, as Harry wrote his essays—with the occasional help from Florean—he was treated to free sundaes every half an hour on the dot without fail. Honoring his agreement with Fudge, Harry returned to the Leaky Cauldron for dinner, well before nightfall.

At the start of the second week, Harry received a brief correspondence from Dumbledore, asking him to meet at the conclusion of the opening feast at Hogwarts. Harry responded with a simple _yes_ and the Hogwarts owl was away. Having explored every shop, Harry now focused his attention to keeping an alert set of eyes and ears for Ron or Hermione as Hogwarts students had begun to filter into Diagon Alley in droves. He had already met with Seamus and Dean, his fellow Gryffindors as they ogled the Firebolt and asked Harry if he was planning to get one. The boys nearly fainted when Harry whispered the going price for the broom.

He spotted Neville as well, but didn't have any opportunity for anything other than eye contact. Neville, cursed with an overly forgetful mind, had misplaced his school list and was getting a thorough telling-off by his grandmother. With only three days left of the holiday, Harry began to wonder if he hadn't simply missed Ron and his family—which would have been hard to do, given the number of red-headed members of the family. But as Harry sat down at Florean's Parlor just after lunch, he heard his name yelled from down the street.

"Harry!" Hermione was running down the street, her bushy brown curls bouncing with every step. Her parents followed behind, clearly taken by surprise with their daughter's sudden change of pace.

"Hermione," said Harry, standing as he greeted his friend with a hug. "I was starting to think I'd missed you already."

"Just got back from France yesterday," she said as her parents caught up. Harry had met them in a quick exchange the year prior but hadn't really spoken to them amidst the chaos of Lockhart's press release at the book store.

"Friends of yours, Harry," asked Florean as he brought Harry's sundae to the table.

"Uh, yes," said Harry. "This is my friend, Hermione Granger, from school, and these are her parents—" but he stopped as he realized he didn't actually know their names.

"William," said Hermione's father with an extended hand. As soon as Mr. Granger had smiled, Harry knew Hermione had gotten hers from her father. He was a solid build; tall, broad shouldered, with an almost square chin. Likewise, his hair was trimmed short and though brown like Hermione's, it was several shades darker.

"And this is my wife, Jane," he continued with a nod. Mrs. Granger looked like a much older Hermione, Harry thought, with almost identical brown curls but noticeably without the frizzy embellishments that often characterized Hermione's. Like her daughter, Mrs. Granger's face was smooth and her brown eyes reflected a sharp intelligence.

"Good to meet you," said Florean with a grand bow. "Any friend of Harry's is a friend of mine. What can I get you?"

"I'll have the same as Harry," said Hermione as she eyed the sundae already on the table. "With extra chocolate sauce, please?"

"Hermione, dear, that's a bit excessive, don't you think," asked Mrs. Granger.

"Mum, I already floss twice a day and brush three times a day," she said irritably. "I've naught a single cavity."

"Oh, alright then," she said with a smile.

"Excellent choice," said Florean. "And for the parents?"

"Vanilla Bean, for me," said Mrs. Granger, "and Chocolate for him," she added with a playful poke to her husband's ribcage. Less than a minute or two later, once all the Grangers were seated and ice cream had been served, Hermione immediately began to question Harry.

"Are you here alone, Harry," she asked suspiciously. "I don't see your aunt or uncle around, and Ron said he and his family wouldn't be here until later in the afternoon."

"Yeah, I'm staying at the Leaky Cauldron, actually."

"Why are you alone, Harry," asked Jane, her eyes growing just as narrow as her daughters.

"It's, um, a long story," said Harry, looking down at the table.

"What is it, Harry," asked Hermione.

"Well, I had a bit of accidental magic go off at my relative's place," he began, not entirely sure how this would be received.

"Ah, yes, we remember those days, don't we dear," said William with a smile. "Hermione did the strangest things before she got that letter in the mail."

"She did indeed," said Jane with a playful smile. "One day she was complaining that the books in our study weren't alphabetized and the next moment, all the books flew from the shelves and began arranging themselves."

"That's not surprising," said Harry laughing.

"Mum, stop," said Hermione, her cheeks going pink. "You do know this is Harry Potter, my friend, from school?"

"Of course we do," said William, his smile very mischievous. "It's our job as parents to make sure you get embarrassed around the company of your friends."

"Even so," said Jane, "what does your being here alone have to do with accidental magic?"

"I accidentally blew up my uncle's sister," said Harry quickly. "My family…doesn't like magic."

"When you say blew up, Harry, do you mean…" began Hermione, but Harry shook his head.

"Like a balloon, Hermione," said Harry reassuringly. "Not that it made much difference, mind you."

"It's reversible, isn't it," asked Jane, her eyes wide.

"Yeah, she's been fixed," said Harry. "She doesn't even remember it."

"I wouldn't want to remember that either," said William.

"So they dropped you off then, for the remainder of your summer holiday, because they don't like magic," asked Jane incredulously. "William and I certainly aren't comfortable around magic, but we'd never just drop Hermione off to fend for herself."

"Well, they didn't," said Harry, growing increasingly more self-conscious by the moment. He let out a deep breath before the next bit. "I ran away." He watched the quick glances that passed between the Grangers.

"Harry, is everything alright," asked Hermione, her sundae now forgotten.

"I'm fine," said Harry. He quickly gave them a rundown of a heavily edited sequence of events that led to his two week retreat.

"You spoke with the Minister for Magic personally," asked Hermione in awe. Harry nodded.

"Yeah, he's really nice, actually."

"But Harry," interrupted Jane, "Why were you running away in the first place?"

"Oh, right," said Harry quietly. He turned to Hermione. "Have you told your parents about my, er, history?"

"Harry, apart from Hogwarts, A History, you're her favorite subject," said William with a sly grin.

"Dad!"

"We know your parents were killed by what we would call a terrorist," said Jane. "Of course, from what Hermione has told us, it was much like a civil war. Before she boarded the train, she was already telling us about you and how she hoped she'd get to meet you. It seems you were famous before you could walk or talk, Harry."

"I didn't know until I got my letter," said Harry. "I didn't know my parents were magical, or that I belonged in a separate world hidden in plain sight. My aunt and uncle—they hate magic—they never told me the truth. Told me my parents died in a car crash. That's why I ran away, you see, and well, why my emotions got the better of me and I blew up Aunt Marge—she only knew what my uncle told her—she went on and on about how worthless my parents were, how my mum was bad blood and my dad was an unemployed drunk. It's what they told me for the longest time." Harry had hardly finished his explanation before he felt the warmth embrace of Mrs. Granger. Harry felt his body turn rigid at her touch, but it was only momentary. As Mrs. Granger held him, his body responded with a release of tension.

"You poor dear," she said, wiping a tear from her eyes. Not to be outdone by her mother, Harry received a very different hug from Hermione as her bone-crushing hug enveloped him and her bush hair smothered his face. Harry was surprised by his own openness, knowing Hermione was likely as shocked as he was; he never talked about his home life.

"Harry," said William, resting a hand on his shoulder once Hermione had relaxed her grip around him, "they didn't…didn't hurt you, did they?" Harry felt his heart leap into his throat.

"Er, no…no, they didn't do anything like that," said Harry quickly. "They just don't like magic is all. Fudge was really nice and said I could stay here for the rest of my holiday, as long as I didn't go out into Muggle, I mean, normal London," he added with an apologetic glance to the Grangers, "and checked in with Tom before nightfall."

"Alright," said William with another shared look to his wife. "Just wanted to be sure—I didn't mean to imply anything, er, was out of place."

"I understand," said Harry, feeling relief wash over him. "Thank you. I really am fine. There's plenty here to keep me busy, and I've managed to get all my holiday school work completed."

"That's wonderful, dear," said Mrs. Granger. "Hermione, what time did you say the Weasley's were to meet us?"

"Ron wasn't specific," said Hermione, "which isn't a surprise. He only said they'd be here in the afternoon."

"We're not in a hurry, so no harm done," said William, leaning towards Harry. "Hermione tells me you're an athlete, Harry. Something about a game called—"

"Quidditch," said Hermione.

"That's the one," said her father with a nod. "She says you play a very important position on the team?"

"I play Seeker," said Harry. He then went on to explain the finer points of the game and his position that Hermione—despite her unparalleled ability to absorb every detail—had neglected as she had no first-person experience to convey.

"What I wouldn't pay to see a game," he said after Harry had told him about Dobby's rogue Bludger.

"I don't see why you couldn't," said Harry. "Sometimes magical parents visit on game days to see their kids play."

"Hermione says it's impossible," said William, looking downtrodden. "Something about enchantments to make us look elsewhere, or forget what we're doing and what-not."

"Not to mention you get there by train," said Hermione. "You can't get onto the platform."

"Maybe we'll talk to Dumbledore when we get back," said Harry. "I'm sure if it's possible, he's the one who'd know how to do it."

"I'd be tickled, Harry," he said with a clap on Harry's shoulder. "And to see this magnificent castle you learn at."

"It's never been done before," said Hermione. "Muggles have never been allowed at Hogwarts. The enchantments keep them from seeing the castle. All they'll see are ruins."

"I think there's a way around it," said Harry. "Look at Filch—he doesn't have a drop of magical blood but he has no problem at Hogwarts." Hermione's eyes grew wide.

"Of course," she said slowly. "Of course, how could I miss it? I think you're right, Harry. Oh I'm so speaking with Dumbledore right after the feast!"

"If that's the case, you can come with me to see him," said Harry. "I'm supposed to meet with him after the feast."

"You're not in trouble, are you," asked Hermione, her suspicion aroused once more.

"Actually, I don't really know, exactly, but—"

"Harry! Harry!" He and the Grangers turned their eyes upon the street to see the herd of red-headed Weasley's making their way towards them. Ron ran at the front, followed not too distantly by Fred and George. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley walked behind with Ginny in company. Percy, Harry noticed, was absent.

"Blimey, Harry, everything seems to happen to you, doesn't it," he said, a big toothy grin plastered on his freckled face.

"What are you talking about?"

"Oh, he's good, Fred," said George.

"Agreed, Georgie," said Fred, nodding enthusiastically. "His denial is so natural—"

"What are you three going on about," asked Hermione.

"You don't know," asked Ron with disbelief. He turned to Harry. "You haven't told her?"

"Told her what," asked Harry, getting slightly annoyed.

"Give it here, Fred," said Ron. Fred handed Ron a rolled up copy of the Daily Prophet, to which Ron flattened out on the table just as Arthur and Molly arrived. There on the front page of the Daily Prophet, was a picture of Fudge greeting Harry outside the Leaky Cauldron with large block-print headline letters.

 **BLACK'S FIRST TARGET REVEALED**

 **HARRY POTTER SURVIVES**

 **AFTER DARING RESCUE BY THE KNIGHT BUS**

 **By: Rita Skeeter**

Hermione snatched the paper form the table and began reading aloud.

 _The Knight Bus, currently operated by Ernie Prang and his loyal conductor, Stan Shunpike, may very well be the heroes of the year. Sirius Black had been on the loose for little more than twenty-four hours when who should be out alone wandering the streets of Magnolia Crescent, in Surrey, in the dead of night? Why, none-other than Harry Potter himself. And who should Harry Potter stumble upon? That's right—Sirius Black! Thanks to the timely arrival of the Knight Bus to Harry Potter's location, it's almost certain the wizarding world would have lost its well-celebrated, fateful savior._

 _Why Harry Potter, readers may ask? This reporter asked the very question. You would be hard pressed to find a wizard or witch unfamiliar with the tragic hero's tale. Harry Potter, orphaned at early infancy, remains to this day, the only known wizard to survive the Killing Curse. This feat alone would garner a great deal of fame. However, it is the boy's mysterious and simultaneous defeat of the darkest wizard ever to stand on British soil that made Harry Potter a common house-hold name; He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named._

 _While most in Magical Britain celebrated the demise of You-Know-Who, Sirius Black, one of his most loyal followers, was sent to Azkaban. Readers unfamiliar with Black's history should read last week's edition. The unlikely-ness of a chance meeting between Harry Potter and any of the Dark Lord's faithful is as high as the existence of a tame Hungarian Horntail. One wonders if this meeting was random chance at all, but rather, the work of fate? This reader believes Harry Potter is lucky to be alive._

 _Why was our young hero wandering the streets of Britain, alone, and unwatched? Yours truly made that very inquiry to the Ministry, as well as a request for the records of Harry Potter's security detail be made public. The request was denied. Not to be deterred, this faithful reporter has her methods and her sources._

 _Speaking to the Minister on the night in question, Harry Potter revealed to the minister there had been an altercation at his home with the relatives responsible for his upbringing. Details regarding the exact location of Harry Potter's residence, as well as the security details surrounding the home were sealed years ago, by then Minister for Magic, Millicent Bagnold, then head of Magical Law Enforcement, Bartemius Crouch Sr., and Albus Dumbledore, serving in his capacity as Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot. It is also a known fact within the Wizengamot that Albus Dumbledore is also the magical guardian of Harry Potter, a generously superficial title given to those who arrange the care of orphaned magical children with no other magical relatives to assume care._

 _While details of said altercation are largely unknown, members of the Accidental Magical Reversal Squad were dispatched to the residence of Harry Potter, where they are reported to having punctured and modified the memory of one Muggle, Marjorie Dursley, who, it appears suffered magic fueled by an emotional outburst from young Harry Potter and was inflated significantly beyond her normal figure._

 _The Minister also forgave Harry Potter for his breach of the of The Decree for the Restriction of Underage Wizardry, telling the visibly distraught hero, "Harry, you did accidental magic; the Ministry does not go about throwing people in Azkaban for a bit of emotional magic." While I'm sure the magical community will join with me and applauding the Minister's display of leniency, it also raises concerns that Harry Potter, grateful as we are for what he's done, may develop a behavior and expectation for special treatment that our Minister's lacking discipline may cause further down the road._

 _However, the Minister's true motive appears to be out of warning for our hero, who concluded their meeting with this stark reminder we should all heed, "…Black is convinced he can bring You-Know-Who back to power again if you [Harry] are defeated, just as you once defeated the Dark lord…its's madness, silly, deranged thought, but that doesn't matter to Black…he lost everything the night You-Know-Who lost his powers, and he, like so many of his kind, holds you responsible for that loss."_

 _Opinion of Fudge's brutal honesty with the young lad will vary, but this reporter worries the news may be too much for a wizard barely thirteen years of age._

Hermione gave the paper to her parents and looked at Harry, eyes wide and fearful.

"Who's Sirius Black," asked William, looking up at Arthur and Molly. The Weasley's all gathered around the table and Arthur pulled off his heavily-patched traveling cloak.

"Perhaps another round of dessert," offered Mr. Weasley, waving at Florean. "This will take a bit of time."


	5. Rats and Felines, Snakes and Trolls

**Author's Note:** Hello all! Fun little chapter coming your way, I hope, with some Weasley twin humor aplenty. I want to give us a little more time with Hermione's parents so they themselves begin to gain a vested interest in Harry and his well being, though we're a long ways from that relationship really getting traction.

Next chapter puts us on the Hogwarts Express and a more emotional encounter with Lupin and the Dementor's I hope.

For those waiting on the next chapter for Hallows of Death, that's coming soon. Got a few more hours of work there yet to do, hopefully I'll have time to finish that before the week's end.

Again, thanks for the reviews and comments and so on, appreciate all of it.

As usual, this all belongs to Rowling.

Enjoy.

 **Chapter Five: Rats and Felines, Snakes and Trolls**

"So, who is this Sirius fellow," asked William once Mrs. Weasley had taken all the children to finish their shopping.

"How much do you know about Harry," asked Arthur, stroking his chin.

"That boy is Hermione's favorite subject," said Jane with an amused glimmer in her eyes. "I don't think we've ever received a letter that didn't mention him at least once."

"From what she's told us," added William, "Harry is regarded as both a celebrity and savior of your world for his mysterious defeat of a dark wizard. She's never gone into detail about any of it, mostly as the books that did mention him didn't elaborate."

"Well no one knows, do they," said Arthur. "You see, not every witch or wizard uses their gift for good; our history is filled with witches and wizards who lost themselves in the darkest magic that exists in our world. Back in 1970, one wizard went as dark as you could go—You-Know-Who, we call him—started his crusade against Muggleborns, half-bloods, and anyone else he didn't think was worthy to study magic. He believed only purebloods—that is, people with magical parents who themselves were children of magical parents—had any right to magic. The purer the bloodline, the better the witch or wizard. Thing is, a lot of other wizards and witches agreed with him. He and his followers—Death Eaters, he called them—started wiping out those they thought unworthy. At first, it was just a few people here and there; they would disappear without any explanation. Then it was friends and family."

"Once You-Know-Who had gained enough followers, he came out into the open and demanded total control. That was his real purpose; total power, total control—not just over wizards and witches—he wanted everything. The conflict spilled out into the Muggle world too," added Arthur with a distant expression. "You knew them as gas explosions, faulty engineering, the work of a suicide bomber, a hurricane; no, they were the products of wand fire, genocide, giants and bewitched corpses. Eleven years of darkness, cruelty, and hopelessness. You didn't know who to trust, or what you'd find when you came home. Thousands of magical and non-magical people were killed or tortured, or bewitched into doing things they had no control over; husbands, mothers, sons and daughters, best friends…you'd be hard pressed to find a family that wasn't torn asunder in some way due to their cruelty and their pursuit of power. They let no one get in their way; not even their own. We were losing—most of us had given up hope and gone into hiding—and we would have lost if it hadn't been for Harry."

"I can see why people tend to regard him the way they do," said William.

"Yes, but how does an infant win a war," asked Jane as she latched onto one of William's shoulders.

"It was Halloween night, 1981," said Arthur with a slow nod, "at Godric's Hollow, in a modest cottage where Harry's parents went into hiding under Dumbledore's direction, hidden by an extremely complex and relatively unknown charm, called the Fidelius Charm. It conceals any secret you can imagine—from intelligence information, to a physical location—inside the soul of a designated person, called a Secret Keeper. You see, during the war, Dumbledore had organized a resistance to You-Know-Who, called the Order of the Phoenix, and Lily and James—Harry's parents—were among the most active members. One of Dumbledore's sources tipped him off that Lily and James were now being targeted directly by You-Know-Who. Would you like to hazard a guess who their Secret Keeper was?"

"No," said Jane as one of her hands covered her mouth to stifle her gasp.

"It was Black, wasn't it," said William.

"They were best friends, Sirius and James," said Arthur, sadly. "He gave away their hiding place to You-Know-Who. I alluded to this earlier, but, there are spells that exist in our world capable of inflicting great destruction and horror. Some can cause excruciating pain, others the ability to completely control and manipulate another human being without them ever being any the wiser, but there's one spell that leaves no physical mark; the Killing Curse. Using it on a fellow human, magical or not, is a one way ticket to Azkaban. The curse separates the soul from the body. There's no counter curse, or protective charm that can stop it. No one has ever survived it, no one except Harry. No one really knows how or why, but when You-Know-Who tried to kill Harry, he lost his powers. A lot of our kind believes he died that night, but Dumbledore seems to think he's still out there somewhere in the far reaches of the world, biding his time and gaining his strength. That's why everyone knows Harry's name; that's why he's the Boy Who Lived."

"Harry doesn't know Black betrayed his parents, then," asked William.

"No, he doesn't," said Arthur with a tone of disappointment. "Not yet, anyway. Truth is, not a lot of people know the connection between Black and the Potters. I only know because I happened to read the court records from Black's sentencing some years ago before they were sealed after Black's escape. And I think Fudge was right to do so; can you imagine Harry learning the truth through a newspaper?"

"It would be a shattering truth," said Jane, tearfully. "But shouldn't someone tell him? Doesn't he have a right to know?"

"I agree with you," said Arthur. "I know the headmaster intends to meet with Harry at the start of term—he's the one that needs to tell Harry, because he knows the whole story."

"To be just a boy, with all that hanging over him, I can't imagine," said Jane.

"Harry's not like other children his age," said Arthur scratching his chin.

 **() () ()**

"I can't believe you didn't tell me, Harry," said Hermione, her arms folded as they waited outside the bookshop for Molly and Ginny to finish. "You could have been killed, Harry."

"I wasn't going to keep it from you, Hermione," said Harry with a sigh. "I didn't want to worry your parents," he added guiltily.

"Give it a rest, Hermione," said Ron, rolling his eyes. "He's safe, right? No harm done."

"But you heard what the paper said," insisted Hermione. "He killed thirteen people, with one curse!"

"Yeah, bloody scary it is," said Ron as he scratched his nose, "It's not like Harry's never faced life and death before, is it?"

"That's not the point," said Hermione. "I'd like to enjoy one incident-free year, Ronald, and I'm sure Harry feels the same." Harry certainly couldn't argue with her.

"It's not like Harry's going to go looking for Black, is he?"

"Don't know why I would," admitted Harry. "To be honest, he sounds more dangerous than Voldemort."

"Oi, don't say his name, Harry," said Ron with a violent shudder. "How many times do I have to remind you?"

"It's just a name," said Harry wearily. "He's not going to poke out from the alley way with wand in hand any moment, is he?"

"Blimey, I almost forgot," said Ron. He pulled out a long thin box from the shopping bag sitting at his feet and opened it. "I got a new wand; fourteen inches, Willow, and containing one Chimera Tail-hair!"

"Brilliant," said Harry, remembering all too well the very incident when Ron's second-hand wand had snapped. He likewise intended never to have reason to go near the Whomping Willow so long as he attended Hogwarts. Hermione, meanwhile, turned her attention to several over-stuffed book bags, checking off each book from a small slip of paper in her hand.

"Hermione, why do you have so many books," asked Harry.

"Well, I'm taking more subjects than you, aren't I," she said proudly. "In addition to our core subjects, I've got Arithmancy, Ancient Runes, Magical Creatures, Divination, oh, and Muggle Studies—"

"What in the name of Merlyn do you need that subject for, Hermione," asked Ron. "You're a Muggle-born; you already know everything about Muggles."

"I do not," said Hermione with a fierce gaze. "Besides, I think it will be interesting to see how wizards view non-magical people. There are a lot of misconceptions in the wizarding world about us and this will be an opportunity to correct them."

"Why bother," asked Ron with a shrug of his shoulders. "It's not like witches or wizards actually care about Muggles, do they?"

"And that's part of the problem," said Hermione sternly. "Their indifference helps foster and breed the supremacist views that families like the Malfoy's spread around."

"People like Malfoy will always be gits," said Ron, "you can't change them."

"Won't know until I try," said Hermione. "And Malfoy isn't the only problem."

"By all means," said Ron with another shrug. Harry, on the other hand, was noticing a different problem with Hermione's ambition.

"Hermione, how are you possibly taking all these subjects," he asked.

"I'll manage," she said. "I've got all the details worked out with Professor McGonagall." She rummaged in her purse and picked out a small handful of Galleons. "Mum and dad gave me some pocket money to get myself an early birthday present."

"Well, you're one book short of a personal library," suggested Ron.

"Tempting," retorted Hermione, "but I really want an owl. You have Errol, and Harry has Hedwig."

"Errol's not mine," protested Ron and he yanked Scabbers from his pocket. "All I've got is Scabbers, and I don't think Egypt was good for him." Harry always thought Scabbers was a lame, uninteresting pet, but even he noticed the rat was thin and ill-looking.

"Well, there's a magical creature shop just across the street," said Harry. He'd memorized Diagon Alley well by now. So, giving a quick notice to Mrs. Weasley, the trio left the bookshop toward the Magical Menagerie.

The Magical Menagerie was a crowded, smelly, noisy shop. Cages lined the walls, stacked high to the ceiling filled with some of the strangest creatures Harry had ever seen. At the front of the store was a gathering of toads in every color imaginable. There were several heated, glass aquariums that housed varying species of snakes. Harry found it difficult to focus initially as he could hear one of them saying _if another two-leg taps on my glass and tells me to move again, I'll oblige them with a fang in their neck_. Above the service counter, the ravens and owls were in their separate cages, each hooting and squawking at one another. At the end of the shop was a row of cages containing a multitude of cats, all in varying fur length and color. The cages behind the counter were all labeled: venomous and dangerous, Ministry Permit required for purchase. Harry spotted one with several small, black spiders with the label: highly venomous-not for sale-alchemical purposes only-Ministry License required for venom purchase. As Ron approached the counter, Harry decided it was best not to point them out.

"Will you take a look at my rat," he asked the witch. "Ever since we got back from Egypt he's been a bit droopy and sluggish."

"Let's have a look at him," said the witch. Ron lifted Scabbers onto the counter.

"How old is this rat," she asked bringing a magnifying glass to him.

"Not sure," said Ron, "been in the family for ages. He used to belong to my older brother."

"What powers does he have?"

"Don't think he has any," said Ron. "Never shown any as far as I'm aware."

"So it's a common garden rat?"

"Probably," said Ron, his ears glowing red now.

"Well, I don't expect him to live for much longer," said the witch without empathy. "I'll be surprised if he lives beyond the year. Perhaps now is the time to consider a replacement—"

"I don't want to replace him," said Ron. "Isn't there anything you can give me to pepper him up some?"

"You can try this rat tonic," said the witch, and she gave him a small red bottle.

"Great, how much?"

"Four Sickles," she said. Ron rummaged in his pockets and pulled out three Sickles and a handful of Knuts.

"Here," said Harry, giving him another Sickle. "You'll want those Knuts for the trolley."

"Thanks, Harry," said Ron as he paid the witch. Harry left Ron then and found Hermione sitting on her knees in front of one of the cat cages.

"I thought you wanted an owl," said Harry, kneeling over beside her.

"Isn't he adorable, Harry," she asked, pointing to the ginger-haired feline. Adorable was a strong word, thought Harry as he examined the bowlegged creature.

"Looks like his name is Crookshanks," said Hermione, reading the label on the cage. Crookshanks had thick ginger fur and his short snout looked as though it had been smashed against a brick wall.

"He's part Kneazle," said the witch when she spotted them looking at Crookshanks. "If you look at his tail, you'll see a tuft of thicker hair, like a lion. His color and facial structure is mostly that of a Himalayan Ginger."

"What's a Kneazle," asked Hermione.

"They're a feline creature related to the cat species and are heavily regulated by the Ministry. They tend to be very independent, intelligent creatures with the uncanny ability to detect deceit in people. As I mentioned, Crookshanks is only half-Kneazle, which is why you can purchase him. Mind you, no one seems to want him—been in the shop for ages." Hermione held out her hand and slipped her fingers into the cage.

"Wait," said the shop owner, suddenly frightful. "He might bite you." But Crookshanks did no such thing. Rather, the ginger cat timidly approached Hermione's outstretched fingers and sniffed them for a minute. Then, clearly to the surprise of the shop owner, Crookshanks brushed his head against her fingers and started to purr loudly.

"Well I'll be," said the witch. "Looks like you've got an immediate bond with this animal."

"How much for him," she asked.

"For you, dearie, fifteen Galleons," said the witch.

"Would you hold him for me," asked Hermione with a disappointed face. "I'll need to ask my parents for a little bit more money."

"Don't bother," said Harry who was already reaching into his coin bag. He withdrew the fifteen Galleons and handed them to the witch.

"Harry, I couldn't possibly accept that," she said.

"It's for your birthday, right," asked Harry. "I haven't gotten you your present yet, so, here you go." He leaned in closer and whispered, "don't mention it to Ron, alright?"

"Thank you, Harry," she said after giving him another bone-crushing hug. Ten minutes later, He and Hermione emerged from the shop with Crookshanks held tightly in Hermione's arms.

"What in Merlyn's name is that, Hermione," asked Ron, who was waiting from them outside the shop.

"This is Crookshanks," said Hermione beaming. "He's half-Kneazle."

"I thought you wanted an owl, not a pig with fur?"

"I did," said Hermione, scratching Crookshanks behind the ear, "but then I saw this little guy and he looked lonely. The poor guy has been waiting a long time for a home and I decided he should get one. And he's absolutely adorable."

"Just keep him away from Scabbers," said Ron. "He needs rest and relaxation—do you think he'll get that with a cat on the prowl?"

"Stop worrying, Ronald; Crookshanks will be sleeping in my dormitory and Scabbers will be in yours, what's the problem?" Ron didn't comment further on Hermione's new pet, but Harry could tell he had plenty to say on the subject. Having completed all their shopping, they met back up with Mrs. Weasley and together they made their way back to the Leaky Cauldron. Hermione had stowed her shopping bags in Harry's room, while all the Weasley's piled theirs in the large two-room suite they had rented, which Harry found strange as they had a home and could easily transport their belongings back to the Burrow. Harry's curiosity was settled at dinner not long after.

"The Ministry has put us up here at the Cauldron for the rest of the holiday," said Mr. Weasley as he buttered his crumpet.

"Why've they done that, father," asked Percy, who had joined them for dinner.

"It's for you, Perce," said Fred.

"And there'll be little flags pinned on top with the letters, HB," said George.

"—For Humongous Bighead," said Fred.

"Is it really," asked George, "I thought it was for Hilariously Barmy."

"That's enough, now," said Mrs. Weasley. "Really, you two should show more respect toward your brother. He's the second Head Boy in the family!"

"And the last, if we're lucky," said Fred.

"With the example you two model for Ron and Ginny, I don't doubt it."

"Here we go with the _I see they haven't made you two Prefects_ bit," said George, rolling his eyes.

"Like we want to be Prefects," said Fred in total agreement with his brother. "It'd take all the fun out of life."

"Let it rest, Mother," said Percy with a puffed chest. "Bill and I set perfectly fine examples for Ron and Ginny."

"I don't think you have anything to do with that, Perce," said Fred, serious for the first time. "Ron actually has you one better—he's got an award for special services to the school. So does Harry, come to think of it."

"Couldn't be helped," said George resignedly. "You go looking for a centuries old secret chamber hidden in the depths of Hogwarts and slay a fifty foot snake that can petrify you with a single glance and save a first-year from certain death, and you're bound to do something praiseworthy."

"Boys, that's enough," said Mr. Weasley. "You heard your mother."

"I think Hermione should have gotten the award," said Harry. "She's the one that figured it all out." Hermione gave Harry a quick squeeze.

"Loads mo' 'elp than Hagrid," said Ron between his mouthfuls of pudding. "Follow the spiders he says. I hate spiders."

"Wait, that was real," asked William looking over to his daughter. "We thought Hermione was exaggerating. The letter from the headmaster said you'd been petrified—are you saying you were actually petrified, like the stories of Medusa?"

"Stiff as a brick," said George without any worry. "Fixed up in a jiffy, thanks to Professor Sprout, of course."

"These three are Gryffindor's best," Fred added, nodding to Harry, Ron, and Hermione. "If it wasn't for them and their end of the year heroics, Gryffindor would never win the house cup."

"Thank Merlyn for those end-of-year-dark-wizards-can't-help-themselves-cause-mischief events," said George.

"While they broke dozens of school rules," added Percy, clearly miffed at the twins detraction of his glorious moment.

"Ah, well, we've been saying it for years, Perce," said George, "you've been doing it all wrong. Fred and I, well, we're following this lot's example. Gets things done, you see."

"And the troll in the ladies lavatory," asked Jane, her eyes darting from her daughter to Harry.

"Brilliant, that was," said Fred.

"That one was mostly all Harry," said Ron. "We weren't really friends with Hermione then, and I, well—," he looked down at his feet at this point and Harry knew full well what he was remembering.

"You both saved my life, Ron," said Hermione quickly. "What happened before doesn't matter anymore."

"And you jumped on its back," said William. He was beginning to understand what Arthur had tried to tell them at the parlor. Something was very different about Harry Potter.

"It was really foolish," said Harry. "We could have all been killed. But I did the only thing I could think of—and we were the only ones who knew where she was. We didn't know there was a troll when we went looking for Hermione—it was supposed to have been in the dungeons."

"Yes, it was incredibly foolish," said Hermione, "but if you hadn't come…"

"Off with her head," said the twins simultaneously, both gesturing a rather gruesome beheading.

"Boys, please," said Mrs. Weasley. "You are not helping."

"And the snake," said William, swallowing hard. "Was it really fifty feet?"

"All real," said Arthur. "My daughter, Ginny, is alive because of the efforts of these three."

"Again, mostly Harry," said Fred, "our resident knight in dull armor, always ready to save the day!"

"Don't forget the blood-stained sword, Fred," said George.

"Can't forget that," acknowledged Fred.

"Boys, room, now," said Mrs. Weasley, her nostrils flaring. They didn't need to be told twice.

"I think I need a stiffer drink," said William. "I thought this was a school to learn magic?"

"It is dad," said Hermione quickly. "It's mostly our own fault."

"William, Jane, we can talk more later this evening," said Arthur encouragingly. "But I assure you Hogwarts is probably the safest place in all of Britain. But just as magic is wondrous, it is equally dangerous. That's why school is so important; so they learn to control their powers and use them responsibly."

"Very well," said William, taking a small measure of comfort. "But I still think I need a stiffer drink."

"Tom has all the good stuff," said Arthur with a smile.


	6. The New Professor

**Author's Note:** Hope you all like this chapter; It's got everything: Twin humor, and Harry and Hermione moment, and a bit of a twist with Professor Lupin. One thing I hope to do with this story is make the Dementors a bit more...effective. We'll just have to see how I do as the story professes, but hopefully it's off to a good start.

As always, enjoy the story, leave your comments, and all the rest.

Thanks for the material, JK.

Cheers.

 **Chapter Six: The New Professor**

The last two days of the summer holiday passed rapidly for Harry with Ron and Hermione now in company. Hermione's parents had agreed to let Hermione remain at the Leaky Cauldron with the Weasleys after their continued conversation with Arthur well into the later hours of evening. Hermione confided in Harry that while she had never kept anything from her parents, she had never gone into details regarding their adventures at Hogwarts.

Harry, likewise, had immensely enjoyed his time with the Grangers; they were every bit as loving and inviting as the Weasleys, but were less…overbearing. If he was honest with himself, Hermione's parents had given him an unintentional glimpse as to what life might have been like had his own parents survived. But he didn't dwell on it, reminding himself as he often did, the most profound advice Dumbledore had ever given him; _it did not do to dwell on dreams, and forget to live_.

Mr. Weasley had informed them at breakfast that the ministry had provided cars for transport to Kings Cross and did not hide it from his family as to why.

"You've all seen the papers," said Mr. Weasley, "the cars are provided for Harry's benefit, as well as ours." Harry had never felt more self-aware in all his life. Mr. Weasley noticed this and added, "This is strictly for Harry's protection, and nothing more." Percy did not seem to care who the cars were intended for; he took the opportunity to appreciate the efforts of the Ministry as though they'd been arranged for him. Fred and George were less than enthused with their brother, so, as everyone loaded their luggage into the back of the SUVs, the twins set about their "duty-bound" work, as Fred had called it. Unfortunately, Harry, Ron, and Hermione wouldn't know the fruits of the twin's labor until they boarded the train as they were riding in the first car with Mr. Weasley, while Ron's mum, Fred, George, Percy, and Ginny rode in the second.

Kings Cross was flooded with people as usual and appeared not to be remotely bothered that people at varying intervals with strange luggage would disappear through the stone brick barrier between platforms nine and ten. This was the magic Harry found most astounding; he appreciated the theatrics he now expected of most magic, but subtle magic—the kind that went unnoticed and bothered no one—was in his opinion, the most miraculous and wondrous of all magic.

Mr. Weasley led him, Ron, and Hermione through the platform barrier first. The blazing scarlet steam engine of the Hogwarts Express greeted them as they stepped onto Platform nine and three-quarters. Fred and George emerged next, both laughing hysterically. They soon found out why.

"Fred, George," bellowed Percy as he came through the barrier, his face scrunched in a horrible red-tinged scowl, "I swear, when we get to Hogwarts, you'll be sorry!" His trolley lumbered forward haphazardly as it was guided single-handedly. His other free hand was clutched to his bottom as though covering a large stain. Mrs. Weasley and Ginny emerged last, and Harry found that her face with bright red with narrowed eyes.

"I'll be writing to Professor McGonagall," she warned the boys. "One toe—one toe out of line and it will be detention for days! And don't think you've gotten off free for this stunt today—there will be plenty of work at home over the holidays. Percy, come here and I'll fix you up, dear."

"What did you lot do," asked Ron as twins drew nearer.

"We put a warming charm on the seat of his trousers," said Fred with a grin.

"Pressure sensitive, I should add," said George.

"So every time he sits—"

"—It activates," finished George laughing.

"And, don't forget the incremental increase in strength each time the charm activates," said Fred smugly.

"Anyway, his pants caught fire and now he's got a nice scorch mark on his trousers."

"Wicked," said Ron, while Hermione shot both twins a disapproving look.

"I hope you're clever enough not to charm me when I'm made a Prefect," said Hermione.

"Then my dear, it'd be best if you take the safe route," said Fred with a bow of his head.

"And avoid catching our…attention," finished George, mirroring his brother's gesture.

"You wouldn't dare," said Hermione, her eyes narrowed.

"Only time will tell, Hermione," said Fred. "Anyway, best keep your eyes out—no telling what future fun awaits our highly esteemed brother." And with that, the twins left them as they boarded the train.

"If they think they'll pull their ridiculous pranks on me, they'll be terribly disappointed," said Hermione as they piled their luggage onto the train. Hermione, of course, had taken several books from her trunk to _lightly peruse_ on the journey, so Harry took Hedwig's and Crookshanks' cages in hand while Ron whistled lightly as they boarded the train.

They searched for empty seats as the train began its departure, but none were left vacant. Finally, in the last car, they found a compartment taken by a single occupant, an adult, fast asleep with his head resting against the window.

"Blimey, he looks terrible," said Ron in a whisper as he took the seat next to the sleeping stranger, keeping considerable distance between them. Harry had to admit the man looked like he'd been through the mill. His face was pale and sickly, and though he slept, the bags under his eyes spoke volumes of irregular sleep. His light brown hair—though short and neatly trimmed—had several streaks of gray hair.

"I didn't think adults rode the train," said Harry as he wrestled Hedwig's cage onto the luggage rack above him. She gave a dignified hoot and shot him a meaningful glare. "I'll let you out soon and you can fly to Hogwarts, okay girl?" Hedwig gave an appreciate hoot and closed her large yellow eyes. Harry took the seat across from the stranger, taking in more of his appearance. Whoever he was, the state of his robes were far more neglected than anything he'd ever seen the Weasley's wear, and they were poor. Not that this mattered to Harry as he shifted uncomfortably in his own clothes—the too-big-for-him hand-me-downs from the Dursleys; he had long since abandoned the notion that anyone could be judged simply by the clothes they wore. The stranger's robes were patched, frayed, faded, and heavily tattered and torn near the edges.

"Not typically," answered Hermione as she let Crookshanks out of his cage before stowing it above next to Hedwig's. Crookshanks gave the compartment a quick look before curling up between Harry and Hermione.

"You don't suppose he's a professor, do you," asked Ron. Hermione let out a soft _oh_ and pointed to the suite case stowed above the stranger. It was as neglected and worn as his robes. The words Professor R. J. Lupin were stamped across the side.

"Defense Against the Dark Arts, you reckon," asked Ron again, this time giving the stranger a more scrutinized look. "I hope he's up to it; looks like one good hex would finish him off, not to mention what normally happens at the castle—just look at what happened to Lockhart."

"Looks can be deceiving," said the man, his voice faint and barely louder than a whisper. Ron recoiled, his sudden movement startling Crookshanks, whose hair was now standing rigid. The professor opened his eyes lazily and shifted into a more comfortable sitting position. He took a moment observing his unannounced guests.

"I'm sorry," said Ron first, the words falling fast from his lips. "I didn't mean anything by it, honest."

"It's quite alright, Mr. Weasley," said Lupin with an encouraging smile. Ron looked at him in disbelief. The professor seemed to know what Ron was thinking and spoke again before Ron could formulate any words. "Red hair and freckles like that, who else could you be, I wonder?" Harry watched with mild amusement as his friend's mouth opened and closed several times, the irony not lost on him. For once, Ron was getting the kind of attention he usually garnered.

"We didn't mean to disturb you, professor," said Hermione quickly. "It was the last compartment." Lupin's gaze fell upon her next as he addressed her.

"You'll be Miss. Granger, then?"

"Yes, I—" but she too had stopped speaking. Lupin merely gave her a smile and turned next to Harry. Typically, Harry was used to strangers' eyes hovering over the scar on his forehead, but this man did no such thing. Instead, he looked directly at him, eye-to-eye. "I have heard a considerable amount about you three from the headmaster already; according to him, you three have already had considerable…hands on experience with the dark arts. I'm pleased to meet all of you. To answer Mr. Weasley's question, yes, I am your new Defense teacher, and I'm pleased to say that I am nothing like Professor Quirrell or Professor Lockhart. I'm aware of how…inconsistent your study has been…but we'll get you straightened out in no time."

"Do you have experience with the Dark Arts, Professor," asked Hermione.

"I'm sad to say that I do," said Lupin. "More intimately than I ever wished for."

"Were you an Auror," asked Ron. Lupin shook his head and gave a small laugh.

"No, I was not an Auror, though I worked with several during the last war against Voldemort." Harry watched Ron give an involuntary shudder but he paid it little attention; the only person apart from himself who had ever said his name without fear had been Dumbledore. Lupin too noticed Ron's reaction and shook his head.

"Sorry, Mr. Weasley," said Lupin. "I forget the name still carries an irrational stigma, despite that Voldemort has been gone for twelve years now; there is nothing to be feared in a name."

"It would be easier to believe if he quit trying to come back," admitted Ron with a dark tone.

"So I've heard," said Lupin. "Perhaps this year will be a bit quieter."

"Probably not," said Harry. "Now there's a mass murderer on the loose and he probably wants my blood as bad as Voldemort does."

"Harry, please don't say things like that," said Hermione. "We're going to have an incident free year this time. Promise me."

"It's not like we go looking for trouble," said Harry. Hermione and Ron gave him identical looks; both of them were in danger of losing their eyebrows as they'd disappeared behind their hair.

"I do not think you have much to worry about," said Lupin seriously. "The Azkaban guards have been stationed at every entrance of the castle grounds, and most of the Ministry has been diverted in some fashion or another to ramp up efforts to catch him. If he's looking to elude capture, he'll stay as far away from Hogwarts as possible. Even Sirius Black is not mad enough to test Albus Dumbledore. But enough of that for now; I'll leave you three to yourselves—I'll visit the driver—if you wouldn't mind, keep an eye on my luggage and I'll be back before we reach Hogsmeade Station?" They nodded and the professor excused himself from their compartment and disappeared soon after down the narrow corridor toward the front.

"Well, he certainly seems more competent than the other professors we've had," said Hermione. "I mean, he actually fought against You-Know-Who's side."

"Yeah," said Ron thoughtfully, "maybe—he still looked like one good disaster away from croaking over—what do you think, Harry?"

"Dunno," said Harry with a shrug. He was still thinking over the professor's reaction to Voldemort's name—the name he wanted all wizards and witches to fear—and found a surprising amount of respect for the man. "I think he'll be better than the others, though."

"What I want to know," said Hermione, "is what exactly are the Azkaban guards? Every time someone mentions them, they get this uncomfortable look in their eyes. I know the newspaper called them Dementors, but I can't find anything about them."

"Yeah, Dad mentioned them a few nights ago with Mum," said Ron, looking out the window. It was raining now. "I heard Dad say Dumbledore wasn't happy to have them at the castle, but, well, for people like Black, you want the best, don't you?"

"I'm not sure these guards are that effective with Black," said Harry. "He escaped them, remember. That was supposed to be impossible."

"You mustn't think like that, Harry," said Hermione as she scooped Crookshanks into her lap and scooted closer to Harry. "They'll catch him."

"I'm just saying I don't think we should relax just because the castle has extra security." Ron and Hermione both gave him a nod and fell into silence. The train's pace had picked up to full cruising speed and the rain slammed down from above with equal measure as the landscape blurred into grey shapes outside the window. Hermione had pulled out her Arithmancy book while Crookshanks invited himself to Harry's lap and curled up once more, purring lightly. Hermione gave Harry a small smile over the top of her book as Ron secured the collapsible table and set up his chess board.

"So, who's looking forward to Hogsmeade," asked Ron, several hours later when Harry refused to play another game.

"I've read it's the only non-Muggle settlement in Britain," said Hermione.

"Really," asked Harry. "You'd think there were more of them."

"True, but we don't really make up much of the population of Britain," she answered. "It's generally thought to be safer when one or two wizarding families simply integrate into smaller Muggle settlements, usually rural ones. It's easier to hide our presence that way."

"Yeah, but that's not what makes Hogsmeade worth a visit, is it," said Ron. "No, it's all the shops you can't find in Diagon Alley."

"I can't wait to visit the inn," said Hermione as she marked her spot in _Arithmancy; The Secret Magic of Numbers_. "Did you know it served as headquarters for the Goblin Rebellion of 1612?"

"Naturally, you'd be interested in a boring history lesson, Hermione," said Ron with a shrug. "Honey Dukes is the first place I'm visiting."

"Oh, and what's so special about Honey Dukes," asked Hermione pointedly, her lips tightening into a thin line.

"Everything," said Ron with a dazed look. "Pepper Imps, Chocoballs, Levitating Sherberts, Sugar Quills..."

"A candy shop," she said, rolling her eyes. "I forgot you let your stomach do all your thinking."

"It's never led me into danger once, I'll have you know."

"It's never led you into a library either."

"What about you, Harry," asked Ron, looking for support. "Would you rather go to some boring inn or the greatest sweetshop in Britain?"

"Dunno," said Harry, letting his face drop to the floor. "I guess I'll have to wait for you guys to tell me all about it."

"Wait, what do you mean, Harry," asked Ron, his eyes scrunched in confusion.

"They didn't sign your form, did they Harry," asked Hermione. He rose to meet her eyes and nodded.

"Those lousy Muggles," said Ron, balling his hand into a fist. "But I'm sure McGonagall will let you go. We'll just explain the situation to her. She likes you after all."

"I don't think that will work, Ron," said Harry. "McGonagall is as a stickler for the rules as Snape. If Fudge wouldn't sign the form, she won't. And with Sirius Black on the loose…there's no way any of the teachers are going to let me go into Hogsmeade." Again, the trio fell into a silence. Ron and Hermione didn't know what to tell him. Harry let out a heavy sigh and turned to the window; it was dark and the rain continued to pour heavily from the sky.

"Can't be long now," said Ron as his stomach growled. It had been several hours since the trolley had been through. No sooner had the words left Ron's mouth, the train car shuddered and jerked, coming to a halt in an uncomfortable fashion.

"Something's wrong," said Hermione, checking her watch. "We're still at least half an hour from the station."

"Maybe there's something on the tracks," said Ron, trying to look out the window, but the cover of night was complete; they could see precious little. Then the lanterns of the corridors began to flicker on and off. There was the distinct sound of several heavy doors clanging open. The lanterns flickered a few times more. Harry immediately leapt from his seat, drawing his wand, his ears listening for unfamiliar sounds. He could hear the voices of students echo down the corridor before the lanterns went out, plunging every compartment into darkness.

"Lumos," said Harry, bathing the compartment in light.

"Bloody hell, Harry, that's bright," said Ron, shielding his eyes. Harry had blasted the spell in front of Ron's face.

"Sorry," he said quickly.

"Harry, I don't think we're allowed to use magic on the train," said Hermione.

"I think this is an appropriate time to use magic, don't you," asked Harry in return. "I was hoping for a compliment; I read about this spell over the summer, you know."

"You should have learned the spell in first year," said Hermione smugly. "But yes, I'm proud that you opened a book this summer."

"Not really my fault that I haven't before," said Harry. Hermione gave him a sad look but said nothing further. Harry mentally kicked himself. He really didn't want Hermione examining his home life. But Harry did not have long to ponder his home life as every limb in his body turned stiff as though frozen from the core of his bones. His blood ran like liquid ice as every pulse of his heart sent sharp stabbing pinpricks through his veins. He looked over to Hermione; her face was tinged with blue and her breath came in sharp short gasps. She had curled into her hoodie and stood ever closer to Harry.

And then he saw it pass; the swishing of a cloak as dark as the night. It doubled back, whatever it was. The compartment door slid open, slowly, creaking as it revolved on its hinges. Towering to the height of the car ceiling, the cloaked figure stepped over the threshold. No, that wasn't quite right, Harry thought, as the light of his wand flickered as the unknown figure drew closer. It was hovering; there were no legs. He felt his hands shake before he noticed them with his eyes. No sooner had he looked the light from his wand flickered again before it extinguished, but not before he caught a glimpse of the creatures hand, for that was what it must be; no human had dead, decaying, skeletal hands. He felt Hermione's hand reach for him as Harry heard his wand drop to the floor, just as he heard his name being shouted, but it seemed as though Hermione were a great distance away, her words quiet…faded…

He heard the long, slow, rattling breath from the creature; as he did, he felt an even deeper cold stir in his chest as though it wanted nothing more than to break free of the useless human vessel and join with the hooded figure before him. And then he heard it; a woman, screaming as though her life depended on it. He wanted to find her, help her, reach out to her…but the creature drew another breath and he knew he didn't have the strength to save her…that he wouldn't make it in time.

 **() () ()**

"Harry! Harry! Harry, please wake up!"

Harry opened his eyes, though his eyelids felt like weights had been fastened to them.

"What happened," he asked dryly. Hermione's face came into focus. He was lying on the seat and Hermione was leaned over him, her face only inches from his own. Her chocolate brown eyes stared intently into his own.

"You blacked out, mate," he heard Ron say. He turned his head. Ron stood behind Hermione, looking over her shoulder. He tried to move but found his body felt as though it had been run over by the train. He felt sick and dizzy.

"Did anyone find who was screaming," he asked, closing his eyes.

"No one was screaming," said Ron.

"I heard someone," he said, looking up again at Hermione who hadn't moved. Before Hermione could answer, their door swung open and Professor Lupin kneeled down beside him. He held out a broken piece of chocolate.

"Eat this," he said briskly. "It'll help." Harry tried to move his arm but it was nothing more than dead weight.

"It might take me a moment," he said.

"Here," said Hermione, taking the chocolate from the professor and holding it to Harry's mouth. Harry wanted to protest but Hermione had already slipped it into his mouth. Almost immediately he felt warmth spread into his toes and fingers.

"Here's another," said Lupin, giving Hermione another piece. "You'll want to lie down for a few more minutes until the chocolate works through your body." Lupin stood again, giving everyone else a piece of chocolate and instructing them to do the same. He started out the compartment, but Harry caught him before he left.

"What was that thing," asked Harry. Lupin turned on his heels with a sad smile.

"That, Harry, was a Dementor," he said checking his watch. "We'll be at Hogsmeade Station in about ten minutes. We'll talk more later."

"Eat, Harry," said Hermione, holding the second piece of chocolate to his lips. Harry gave her another defiant look before he crumbled under her stubborn gaze.

"You'll never let me live this one down, will you," he asked them both, but he continued to look at Hermione.

"Not on your life, mate," said Ron. Hermione simply gave him a smile and nudged the chocolate piece to his lips again. Harry gave a brief smile before biting into the second piece.


	7. The Headmaster's Dilemma

**Chapter Seven: The Headmaster's Dilemma**

The rain had not let up as the Hogwarts Express pulled into the tiny platform of the Hogsmeade Station. Indeed, the icy drops pelted their faces and soaked through their robes, making every student eager to board one of the many carriages that awaited them. Harry, though, did not shiver because of the rain; the frosty touch of the Dementor still lingered in his chest. The chocolate from Professor Lupin had helped considerably and eased the numbness that had captured his body earlier, but Harry longed for the warmth of the fire awaiting him in the Gryffindor Common Room.

"Firs' years, come this way, if ya please," boomed a loud but recognized voice, cutting clearly through the relentless deluge. Hagrid, easily chest and head taller than most adults, held a lantern high for everyone to see, his squinting beady eyes catching the flickering light of the kerosene flame. In the distance, he could see the gathered boats waiting at the shore of the Black Lake, rising and falling with the wind-swept surface of the water. Harry was glad he didn't have to make the traditional journey across the lake.

"Come on, Harry," said Ron, grabbing him by the elbow and pulling him toward the nearest carriage. But Harry still felt weak and his legs trembled as he moved to follow Ron. He knees buckled slightly and he held out his arms ready to brace for the fall, but it never came. Both Ron and Hermione and caught him on either side. They supported him until he was sure of his footing. He did his best not to avoid their concerned looks.

"You alright, mate," asked Ron as he opened the carriage door. Harry gave a silent nod and with Hermione's help, climbed into the welcoming shelter of the stagecoach. Ron sat on the opposite seat while Hermione took hers beside him while holding tightly onto Crookshanks cage. Neither Ron nor Hermione said anything about the Dementors but Harry knew they were worried about him. They watched him closely, their expressions betraying their thoughts; they worried if he would faint again.

 _Dementors_ , Harry thought to himself; these were the creatures that stood guard over Azkaban prison. He now understood why Hagrid had looked so apprehensive last year when Fudge had come to collect him. If the presence of one Dementor was any indication, Azkaban must be terribly unpleasant. And yet…Harry's mind wandered to a disturbing thought…Sirius Black had survived the Azkaban guards for twelve years. A shiver unrelated to the Dementor ran down his spine. Then, just as he finally felt the sharpness of the cold that lingered his chest fade, he felt it again; the harsh blast of arctic-like air washed over him. They had reached the gates. From the corner of his eyes, he saw two more of them, towering, hovering on either side, their unseen faces shrouded in the black interior of their hoods. Harry felt himself slide back into the seat of the carriage. He closed his eyes, silently pleading with his body to persevere. Then he felt the presence of another; it was warm and soft. He opened his eyes. Hermione had reached over and taken one of his hands into her own. They were now speeding past the gates towards the castle. As Hogwarts' many turrets and towers came into view of the carriage window, Harry could hardly stop the word that slipped from his lips; _home_. Hermione smiled radiantly at him; she must have heard him.

At long last the carriage came to a slow halt. They followed the mass of students up the stone steps, through the giant oak doors and into the massive entrance hall blazing in the light and warmth of numerous lit torches. The marble staircase stretched before them leading to the upper floors. But the narrowing stream of students flowed to the right toward the Great hall. But they never made it inside.

"Potter! Granger! I need a word with you both!" They turned to see Professor McGonagall, their head of house striding at full pace toward them. She had a stern look behind her square spectacles and Harry couldn't help feeling apprehensive.

"There's no need to worry, Potter," she said briskly. "I just want a small word with you and Miss. Granger in my office. Weasley, I trust you can see yourself to the hall without incident, yes?" Ron gave the professor a curious look but shrug his shoulders and left Harry and Hermione behind as he disappeared into the mass of students piling into the Great Hall. Professor McGonagall lead them at a quick pace up the Marble staircase and then down the corridor on the first floor.

Professor McGonagall's office was a small room with a single window overlooking her desk. Three identical wooden chairs were arranged around it, one for her and two on the other side for visitors. A large fire blazed in the corner. McGonagall motioned for them to sit down, but Harry shook his head apologetically and stood next to the fire. Though he stood a few feet from the grate, his back felt as though the flames were tickling the skin underneath his robes. It was relief beyond imagining.

"Professor Lupin sent an owl ahead," said the professor, taking her seat at the desk. "He indicated you had taken ill on the train, Potter." Before Harry could reply, there was a steady knock on the door and Madam Pomfrey, the school nurse and someone Harry was more familiar with than he liked, bustled in. She looked hardly surprised to see Him.

"Honestly, Professor, I'm fine," said Harry. He was already feeling self-conscious about his fainting spell aboard the train and he didn't want any more attention.

"I'll be the judge of that, Mr. Potter," said the nurse with a scrutinizing glare. "What foolish and dangerous mischief have you gotten yourself into this time?"

"It was a Dementor, Poppy," said Professor McGonagall.

"Of course," she said, giving McGonagall a dark look before feeling Harry's forehead. "Yes, he's quite cold to the touch. Terrible creatures—whatever on earth the minister was thinking I'll never know—should never have been allowed anywhere near the school."

"Is he alright," asked McGonagall.

"I'm fine," said Harry dully.

"No, Potter, you're not," said the nurse. "Do you have any idea what those creatures can do?"

"I have a pretty good idea," Harry muttered, though no one heard him.

"What does he need," asked McGonagall. This time Harry noted the concern in her voice. It did nothing to relieve his own concern about his reaction to the Dementors, however. All he wanted right now was to be at the feast and then retire to the Gryffindor Common Room where he could sit in front of the fire into the late hours of night.

"Well, he should have some chocolate, at the very least," said Madam Pompfrey as she checked his pulse. "Perhaps an early night as well—a good night's rest will help the body recover more quickly."

"I'm fine," insisted Harry yet again. "And I've already had some chocolate. Professor Lupin gave me some on the train. He gave everyone chocolate as far as I could see."

"Did he really," said the nurse, surprise heavy in her voice. "Bless Merlin's robes, a Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher who actually knows something about basic remedies." Madam Pomfrey pressed the back of her hand once more against his forehead and then gave him an approving nod. "Well, I see no reason to keep him overnight, Minerva. He should be fine by morning."

"Thank you, Poppy," said Professor McGonagall. "Potter, if you wait outside while I have a quick word with Miss. Granger about her course schedule? Then we shall return to the feast together." Relieved not to spend the night in the hospital ward but regretful of leaving the warmth of the fire, Harry nodded and exited the office, closing the doors softly behind him. Harry expected the meeting between his head of house and Hermione to last some time, so he slid down against the wall and sat on the floor, his mind once more returning to the Dementors.

 _What were they_? He knew Dumbledore had been hesitant to allow them near the castle. That knowledge alone gave Harry the suspicion that they were indeed dangerous creatures. That they had not been admitted beyond the castle gates spoke clearly of Dumbledore's sentiments. What lingered most on his mind, the question he did not wish to say allowed, however, was why he and he alone had heard the desperate screams of an unknown woman?

His thoughts were disrupted though as Hermione and McGonagall emerged from the office not long after he had taken his seat upon the stone floor. In hindsight, the cold wall and floor had sapped the little warmth his body had absorbed from McGonagall's office and he now regretted his decision. Hermione had never looked more pleased and happy. Together, the three of them made the quick journey back down the marble staircase and into the Great Hall.

The enchanted ceiling—Harry's favorite feature inside the castle—was dark and stormy. The four house tables were already laden with food and lined with students. Professor Flitwick hobbled toward the staff table, the ancient sorting hat and tiny three-legged stool carried in each arm. They had missed the Sorting. McGonagall took her leave of them as they parted ways, she in the direction of the staff table while Harry and Hermione quietly took their seats at the Gryffindor table across from Ron. Once they were seated and began to pile food onto their plates, Harry noticed that several of his house mates were giving him curious looks. Those looks were shared by several among the other tables. Harry groaned inwardly. Had news of his collapse already traveled through the school?

But he didn't have long to contemplate his fear as Professor Dumbledore stood and made his way to the owl-embossed podium. He cleared his throat and the hall fell quiet.

"Welcome," said Dumbledore, his arms outstretched wide as though to embrace them all. "Welcome those old and new, to another year at Hogwarts! I regret to say I have several important notices to impart before we all become impossibly inattentive by the excellent feast before us." Harry chuckled for the first time that evening. Dumbledore was many things; brilliant, powerful, grandfatherly in appearance, and sometimes eccentric, but particularly at feast time, he was an entertaining orator.

"Firstly, I would like to remind you all that the Forbidden Forest is precisely that; forbidden. While it hosts many amazing, beautiful creatures, it is also the home of creatures that are best left undisturbed." Harry and Ron shared a guilty glance; they knew this better than most and had nearly paid for their ignorance with their lives.

"Additionally, Mr. Filch has asked once again that students remember there is a restriction on spell casting in the corridors between classes and Zonko products are strictly banned as they often require a great deal of effort to clean up after. Those caught neglecting these rules will be given the opportunity to gain an intimate understanding of the phrase, 'elbow grease." The twins laughed as did several others. Filch, Harry noticed, had a rabid twinkle in his eyes reserved solely for the twins. However, Harry noticed a sudden change in Dumbledore's expression. His eyes narrowed and the benign twinkle of his eyes faded as Harry felt the warmth of the hall extinguish.

"It is also my unfortunate duty to inform you that Hogwarts shall until further notice, play host to many of the Dementors of Azkaban," said Dumbledore, his voice sharp and carrying no subtlety in his disapproval. "I cannot express clearly enough to you all that they are not to be trifled with. They are stationed, as you will have noticed, at every entrance and throughout the perimeter of the school grounds. Though I speak to you all, I particularly caution those who may suffer under the delusion that Dementors can be fooled or tricked by magical gimmicks, disguises, Polyjuice Potion, or even Invisibility Cloaks—though blind, they will not distinguish between the one they hunt and the one who gets in their way. While I have been assured by the Ministry of Magic that they will not disrupt our day-to-day activities, I urge each and every one of you to give them no reason to harm you. I look to our Prefects, our new Head Boy and Girl, and the staff to make sure that no student, unintentionally or otherwise, run afoul among the Dementors."

"On a more celebratory note, I am pleased to welcome two new staff members," continued Dumbledore, his smile returning and his eyes dancing in the candlelight once more, "both of whom I feel especially well equipped for the tasks at hand. First, let me introduce our new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, Professor R. J. Lupin." There were scattered clusters of applause, mostly from those in Harry's train car.

"Take a look at Snape," said Ron, hissing in Harry's ear.

Harry was well aware of Snape's signature sneers, most of which he seemed to reserve specifically for him. It was also common knowledge that Snape wanted the Defense Against the Dark Arts even more than he wanted Harry expelled from Hogwarts. However, Snape looked at Lupin with such loathing that even Harry was startled by the expression that contorted the potion master's pallid face.

"As to our second appointment," said Dumbledore as the applause for Professor Lupin faded, "I am delighted to say that the vacant position left by Professor Kettleburn has been filled by none other than our very own Rubeus Hagrid, who I might add, is among the most knowledgeable wizards when dealing with magical creatures. Aside from his teaching duties, Professor Hagrid will continue his gamekeeping duties." The applause for Hagrid was noticeably larger than what Professor Lupin had received but that was expected. Most students viewed Hagrid favorably. The only students who appeared upset about the new appointments were those who sat at the Slytherin table.

"Of course it was Hagrid," shouted Ron over the applause, "I mean, who else is nutty enough to assign a biting book?" Dumbledore smiled and held his hands up to quiet them.

"I would also like to take the moment to congratulate Hagrid for his recent acquittal of the wrongful charges he suffered fifty years ago that resulted in his expulsion. Thanks to not-so-recent events, the true culprit responsible for opening the Chamber of Secrets was appropriately assigned the blame. As a result, Hagrid will continue private lessons with select staff members to complete the education that was wrongfully denied him." There was another round of applause, the loudest being those at the staff table.

"Let the feast continue," said Dumbledore.

The hall echoed with laughter, the clatter of cutlery, and Oliver Wood's loudly voiced proclamation that Gryffindor would be this year's Quidditch champions. Wood's brazen statement solicited boos from the Slytherin table, while Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw made their boastful claims. Ron, ever competitive about anything Quidditch, rose to the occasion and joined Wood at the head of the table. Harry shook his head. He simply wanted to eat and retire to his warm bed. After nearly an hour of arguing Quidditch tactics while Ron consumed the last crumbs of pumpkin tart, Dumbledore excused them for bed. However, Harry did not make it far with Ron and Hermione as Dumbledore approached them.

"Good evening, Harry, Mr. Weasley, and Miss. Granger," said the headmaster with a mirthful smile. "I wonder, Harry, if you remember our prearranged meeting tonight?" Harry groaned inwardly for the second time. He had forgotten.

"Sorry, Professor, I nearly forgot," he said.

"Quite understandable," said Dumbledore with a nod. "If you would, we can walk together to my office—I promise I shall not keep you overly long."

"Of course, Professor," said Harry. He caught Hermione's hopeful stare. "Sir, I wonder if it might be alright if Hermione comes along? We had something we wanted to ask you as well."

"Certainly," said Dumbledore. So with a quick good-bye to Ron, they followed Dumbledore out of the Great Hall and toward the third floor where Harry knew the stone gargoyle stood guard over the entrance to the headmaster's office. Finally, after several minutes of following a whistling Dumbledore through the third floor corridor, they found themselves before the stone gargoyle.

"Password," asked the gargoyle.

"Lemon Pops," suggested Dumbledore. The gargoyle nodded and leapt aside. Dumbledore gestured for the two young teenagers to go first and followed behind. The office had been exactly as Harry remembered it at the end of last year. The large claw-footed desk sat in the middle of the circular room with many tall bookcases filled with very old and ancient looking books behind it. The Sorting Hat rested peacefully on one of the shelves while Fawkes, Dumbledore's Phoenix, rested on his perch clearly sleeping. Dumbledore sat behind his desk and motioned for Harry and Hermione to sit as well.

"I trust you both are happy to be back in the castle," said Dumbledore cheerfully.

"Feels like home, sir," said Harry without pause. Dumbledore gave him a smile.

"I could almost say the same, Professor," said Hermione.

"I am always delighted to hear it when students consider Hogwarts their home away from home," he said folding his hands upon the desk. "But I digress; you appeared to have some request of me, yes?"

"Yes, Professor," said Harry quickly. "Well, while I was staying in Diagon Alley this summer, I got to know Hermione's parents more."

"Oh," said Dumbledore, eyeing them over his half-moon spectacles.

"Yes sir," continued Harry, "and it occurred to me, well, all of us, that er, Hermione's parents would like to see a game of Quidditch."

"I see," said Dumbledore. He waited for Harry to continue.

"Well, sir, it's just…well I know that other parents have come to matches…and it seems only fair that maybe Hermione's parents could come and watch a game…" Harry nervously held Dumbledore's gaze, his expression unreadable. Then, just as Harry was sure their request could not be done, Dumbledore gave him a warm smile.

"Such a request has never been made as far as I am aware," said Dumbledore, looking to Hermione. "And I would be much mistaken if Miss Granger would not equally like for her parents to see the castle and where she spends so much of the year, am I correct?"

"Yes, Professor," said Hermione. Dumbledore nodded.

"Well, there are some potential obstacles that may prevent that, I am afraid to say," he said slowly, but his smile did not fade. "The Statute of Secrecy in particular. However, I am modestly confident that as they are already aware of our world, their presence here for a school sponsored event does not breach the statute. I shall speak to the school governors regarding your request, Miss. Granger. I have long since felt it was wrong to exclude parents of Muggleborn attendees, but I have made little headway as no student has made such a request, at least not in my time as Headmaster or as a teacher. I can promise nothing further at this time." Hermione practically leapt from her chair. She hugged Harry and before Dumbledore knew what was coming, Hermione had circled the desk and given him an equally bone-crushing hug. Dumbledore, however, smiled even more.

"Oh thank you, Professor Dumbledore," said Hermione. "Is it alright if I write them about this?"

"I see little harm in doing so," he said. Hermione gave Harry another hug.

"Thank you, Harry," she said. "I never would have thought to ask Professor Dumbledore."

"Very well, Miss. Granger, unless you have yet another request, might I ask you to step outside while I continue to speak with Harry?" She gave Harry a concerned glance, knowing this likely concerned Sirius Black. Dumbledore saw this and added, "You are more than welcome to wait by the stone gargoyle until Harry and I are finished." She gave the headmaster a nod and left the office, leaving Harry and the headmaster alone.

"I heard about your unfortunate encounter on the train, Harry," he said. "I must apologize for their presence in the first place."

"I'm alright," said Harry, more embarrassed than anything.

"There is no shame in how you reacted to the Dementor, Harry," he said, looking over his spectacles once more. "Dementors are among the most vile and dangerous creatures that roam this world. Even the strongest of wizards and witches have fallen prey to the effects of their presence such as you experienced on the train."

"No one else fainted," Harry protested. He wanted to add that no one else heard the screaming, but decided against it.

"As Professor Lupin tells me, no one was in as close proximity to one as you were," countered Dumbledore. "But I digress yet again; this was not the pretense in which I asked you to meet with me tonight."

"Is this about Sirius Black?"

"I am afraid so," said Dumbledore sadly.

"I already know Sirius Black is after me, sir," said Harry. "And I promise I have no desire to chase after him."

"I am glad to hear it," said Dumbledore, his expression unchanging. "Cornelius has of course, relayed to me everything you told him the night you left your relatives home, but I am hopeful you will not find it too repetitive a task to talk me through the night's events?"

"Of course not, sir."

"If I may, what incident motivated you to leave your house?"

"I um…well, Professor," said Harry as he scrambled for words, "my uncle's sister was staying over the holidays and she er, doesn't like me much."

"I see," said Dumbledore. His eyes narrowed slightly and his hands clasped together on the desk.

"You see, Professor, she doesn't know about me, about…"

"…About magic," offered Dumbledore. Harry nodded.

"And she doesn't know anything about my parents, sir."

"Naturally," said Dumbledore. "Would I be wrong to assume something was said out of ignorance that upset you?" Harry didn't answer right away.

Yes, Marge had certainly spoken out of ignorance. But it was more than that. It was the vindictiveness behind the words. It was the accompanied violence. It was the eyes that held only one emotion; hate. Loathing. Superiority.

"Harry?"

"Sorry, Professor," said Harry quickly, shaking his head. "Yes, she said things that weren't nice about my parents. She said they were…they were drunks…and burdened my aunt and uncle with me…" Harry stared at the floor, unable to look Dumbledore in the eyes.

"That is a truly terrible thing to say," said Dumbledore softly. "And this I presume is when your magic ran away with you?" Harry nodded to the floor.

"Harry, please look at me."

Harry slowly raised his head. _Dumbledore thinks I'm weak_ , he thought to himself. _First I can't control my magic, I blow up my aunt, and then I'm the only one to faint on the train._

"There is nothing you have to feel ashamed for," said Dumbledore. His expression was hard to read, and for a moment, Harry thought he saw a tear in Dumbledore's left eye, but the next moment it was gone and Harry was sure he had imagined it. "For what it matters, I would have had difficulty containing my emotions, had I been in your circumstances." He gave Harry a short smile that Harry could not help but return. This was yet another thing Harry felt about Dumbledore; he always found something good with the bad.

"Please continue, if you would, Harry?" So, over the next ten minutes, Harry told the headmaster everything that had happened that night. When he had finished, Dumbledore looked both worried and puzzled.

"The Minister said I was lucky to be alive," said Harry. "But then, why didn't he kill me the moment he knew I was alone?"

"While I am overjoyed by the fact that Black did not take full advantage of the situation, I am equally perplexed by his actions," admitted Dumbledore. "You say he moved his wand in a slashing motion, and the next moment you were pushed over your luggage by a powerful force?"

"It was like, I dunno, a massive burst of wind or something," said Harry. Dumbledore had fallen into deep thought. He stood and began to pace behind his desk, his lips moving but he spoke so softly that Harry could not make a single word out.

"Professor, why would Black escape prison just for me," he asked. "You know...I know you do." Dumbledore looked up from his pacing, his face oddly white in the candlelight. Harry pressed further. "The Minister said you knew more about it. I think he knew but didn't want to tell me."

"I only worry that the truth may be more to handle than I have right to expect of you." Harry felt his heart twist; Dumbledore believed him weak.

"But," continued Dumbledore with a heavy sigh, "you have proven that underestimating your spirit and strength would be equally foolish on my part." Harry looked up, unable to hide his surprise.

"However, I think it would be best if I were to ask Miss. Granger to keep you company." He quickly strolled past Harry and disappeared beyond the office door. A moment later, Dumbledore entered with a confused looking Hermione closely behind.

"I hope you will forgive me, Harry, that you are only now learning of this, but I only wished to spare you unnecessary suffering," said Dumbledore, sitting at his desk again. "I had intended to tell you when you were older. However, current events as they are…it is only right that you know." Hermione gave Harry a worried look.

"Before the death of your parents, it came to my knowledge that Lord Voldemort had marked them as his next targets," said Dumbledore sadly. "They fought tirelessly against him and his forces. They were among the most courageous individuals I have known in my long life. Still, it was my duty to ensure they were protected as best as magic would allow. I decided there best chance of survival was the Fidelius Charm."

"I've never heard of it," said Harry. He looked to Hermione. She shook her head also.

"I would have been astounded if you had," said Dumbledore. "It is uncommon magic, known by precious few. What it does, is conceal a secret inside the soul of one person. As long as that person—the Secret Keepeer—does not divulge that secret, it is nearly impossible for another person to learn of it. In this instance, we choose to hide your parents, and you, under this charm. But there was a traitor…" And Harry knew without Dumbledore having to say anything further.

"Sirius Black," said Harry. Dumbledore nodded.

"Yes, you guessed correctly," said Dumbledore. "You see, Sirius Black was your father's best friend." Hermione hands flew to her mouth but they did not contain the sharp gasp that left her lips. "And he was your parent's Secret Keeper. And he betrayed them to Lord Voldemort. The rest, you already know."

 **() () ()**

"You told him," asked the voice of Remus from the grate of the Headmaster's fireplace.

"I had little choice to do so," said Dumbledore with a resigned tone in his voice. "He deserves to know the truth."

"It's a lot to take in," said Remus. "I still have trouble coping. I can only imagine the struggle Harry will have now that he knows."

"Harry is far stronger than you know," said Dumbledore.

"Yet you didn't tell him the whole story."

"No, I did not," admitted Dumbledore. "It is enough to know that Black is the reason he grew up essentially an orphan."

"If he's anything like James, he'll find out," warned Remus.

"Yes, he does have James' mischievous side, but his nature is predominately that of Lily's. Besides, he has the good judgement of Miss. Granger at hand. She holds considerable sway over the boy. In regards to Sirius as Harry's godfather, I sincerely hope he will be back in Azkaban before I deliver that unhappy news. As you said, it is already enough to cope with."

"Did you mention myself or Peter?"

"No, it is not my story to tell, Remus, but yours."

"I don't know that I can, Dumbledore."

"As you say, he is James' son; do not be surprised if he figures you out too."

"I'll keep that in mind," said Remus with a chuckle. "If you'll excuse me, Headmaster, I really must get some rest for tomorrow."

"Of course," said Dumbledore. "Before I let you go, what lesson do you have planned for the third years?"

"Boggarts," said Lupin.

"Intriguing start," admitted Dumbledore. "I wonder what form the Boggart would take if Harry were to face one?"

"I don't intend to let him," said Remus honestly.

"You must believe the Boggwart will assume the shape of Lord Voldemort?"

"I do," agreed Remus. "I know Harry is likely to cope, but I worry about the reaction of his classmates."

"He will not think kindly of being refused the chance to tackle the creature," said Dumbledore. "But I cannot fault your reasoning."

"I have several creatures lined up that Harry will be too busy to think about Boggarts," said Remus. "And now I'm afraid I really must be going, Headmaster. Good night to you."

"Good night to you as well, Remus," said Dumbledore as the flames in the fire died down. He stared out the window of his study; the rain had yet to relent.

"What is your goal, Sirius," he asked aloud. "You had your moment and let it slip without reason." Dumbledore allowed his thoughts to wander the endless circle of questions floating in his mind. But the question he wondered most had nothing to do with Sirius Black. He wondered how much longer Harry's childhood would last before he was forced to give the terrible truth he promised two years ago. Not for the first time he looked at Tom Riddles Diary sitting at the corner of his desk.

"Not yet," he said resolutely. "I will not let you take his childhood yet, Tom."


	8. Soggy Tea Leaves

**Author's Notes:** I've had a bit of fun with this chapter-I hope you all enjoy it! A familiar scene, but, well, you'll see.

Cheers, and as always, love the comments.

 **Chapter Eight: Soggy Tea Leaves**

Harry slept poorly through the night as his thoughts ran uninhibited with the images of Sirius Black kneeling at the feet of Lord Voldemort, his face twisted by a smile of unhinged madness and glee at his betrayal. How long had Black been in the employ of Voldemort, Harry wondered as he twisted beneath his covers. When did the best friend become the secret agent of his parent's demise? Had Black ever been a true friend?

Hermione had accompanied him back to Gryffindor Common Room that night and made several attempts to console him. Harry knew she had meant well and appreciated her reassuring statements that Black had little chance of sneaking past so many Dementors and Dumbledore's watchful eye but she could not relieve the constricting sensation that now twisted around his heart; Sirius had thrown away untold years of friendship for what—the short-lived accolades and praise of Lord Voldemort? It was sickening to his stomach.

By the time he, Ron, and Hermione entered the Great Hall for breakfast the first day of class, Harry had not yet confided in Ron and had quickly waved aside Hermione's attempt to talk about it. He wasn't ready to talk about it and had turned his attention to Draco Malfoy, who was in the middle of entertaining a large group of Slytherins with a flamboyant swooning fit as Crabbe and Goyle imitating large swooping figures in hooded cloaks.

"Hey, Potter," shouted Draco as the three passed the Slytherin table, "going to faint again today? Looks like you're not as special as people think you are!"

"Ignore him," said Hermione, gently urging him forward, "You know he's not worth the trouble."

"Yeah, but a right hook to the jaw would make us feel better," said Ron as he sat down next to Fred and George. Harry silently agreed.

"Wondered when you three were going to turn up," said George passing a stack of parchment to Ron. "You're course schedules are in there somewhere."

"I see the foul git is still at it," said Fred, looking over Harry's shoulder at the Slytherin table. George looked over his shoulder and shook his head.

"Been doing that all morning he has," said George.

"He wasn't so full of himself last night in our train, was he, George?"

"I seem to remember a prominent wet spot in his private region."

"So don't worry about it, Harry," said Fred with a clap on the back. "Dad had a run-in once when he visited Azkaban—he was miserable for a couple of days. A bar of chocolate wouldn't do the trick, so Mum made him a whole chocolate cake."

"They suck the happiness right out of the place," said George. "Dad said Azkaban's the worst place he'd ever been."

"Anyway, cheer up," said Fred, "You'll get your chance to put Malfoy in his place with the whole school watching. Gryffindor versus Slytherin—first game of the season—and you'll catch the snitch no problem, won't you, Harry?"

"Of course he will," said George, "he's got the best mischievous Beaters the world has ever known on his side—he can't fail!" Harry smiled at the thought of Quidditch and felt significantly more cheerful as he piled his place with sausages.

"Oh, I was hoping we'd get to start some of our new subjects today," said Hermione as she examined her schedule. "We've got Divination and Care of Magical Creatures today." Ron looked over Hermione's schedule as he was too busy eating to read his own. Harry watched his eyes bulge as he looked down Hermione's time table.

"Hermione, I think your time tables are a bit wonky," he said, pointing at the first entry. "Look, nine o'clock: Divination, then, nine o'clock, Muggle Studies and—" Ron shook his head as if to flick away any possible remaining drowsiness left in his eyes and blinked. "—Arithmancy, nine o'clock! Hermione, I know you're good but blimey, it's not possible to be in three classes at the same time!"

"Of course not," said Hermione, stowing her schedule in her book bag. "I've told you already, I've worked it out with Professor McGonagall. My work load is none of your business."

"Alright, fine," said Ron, shrugging his shoulders. "Just don't come looking for a shoulder to cry one when you're buried under all that homework."

"Remind me who helps who with their homework," said Hermione.

"She's got you there, mate," said Harry with a chuckle. "You know, Ron, you should probably choose your words a bit more carefully, since she'll have even less time to help you with your homework this year."

"Hey, you get help from her just as much as I do," said Ron, though Harry could see the worried expression growing steadily across his face.

"I'm going to try a lot harder this year," said Harry. "I'm going to keep my nose down, try to avoid near-death situations, and have a normal year for a change." Hermione gave him a full-toothed smile and her eyes lit up.

"Harry, I'm so proud of you," she said.

"I'm sure I'll still need help in potions, though," said Harry quickly.

"I don't mind helping as long as you do the actual work," she said.

"You're both mental," said Ron, scooping up a handful of biscuits as he stood up.

"Divination is at the top of North Tower," said Hermione, as they left the Great Hall. "We'd best hurry or we'll be late."

"Blimey, it's going to take ages to get there," said Ron. Ron's premonition soon became reality as they climbed several staircases and navigated several unfamiliar corridors. Hermione though persevered and led them on, ignoring Ron's continuous moans and short-of-breath exclamations as he sought affirmation for the desire of a shortcut. Eventually, they found a narrow spiral staircase that climbed several rounds up the tower leading to a small silver ladder and circular trapdoor. The muffled voices above them confirmed they had found the place.

The round attic-like classroom was tiny and made even smaller by the many small, rickety, doily-covered circular tables crammed inside. Each table was accompanied with poorly matched chintz armchairs and a set of ugly pink teacups and matching saucers. The classroom had little light with the curtains drawn over the windows and the few lamps present draped in dark red scarves. However, it was the stifling warmth Harry found uncomfortable. A fire blazed beneath an overburdened mantelpiece, giving off a nauseating aroma while heating a large dented copper kettle. Finally, several shelves ran the perimeter of the circular walls, heavily laden with the stubs of candles, opened packs of playing cards, several dusty crystal balls and to Harry's horror, stacks of teacups, each with a more hideous color and design than those found on the tables. Harry, Ron, and Hermione took a seat at the table far at the back of the room.

"Welcome, dear children," said a soft, echoing voice, "I am pleased to finally see you all healthy and inquisitive in the physical realm—though I expected nothing else." Professor Trelawney stepped into the firelight. The professor was unlike any other Harry had yet met in his time at Hogwarts. She was draped in a colorful shawl that clashed immediately with her large crimson-framed glasses that magnified her eyes like an insect. Thin and frail looking, she moved between the tables with grand gestures, her arms spreading wide only for the many rings and bracelets adorning her fingers and wrists to catch the flicker firelight.

"Welcome to Divination," she continued with a wide smile. "I am Professor Trelawney, blessed with the gift of the Sight. I warn you now that disappointment awaits nearly all who choose to venture into the mysteries of the future, for the Sight cannot be learned…you either have it or you do not…for those in the latter category, I'm afraid that books will teach you little. I can only teach those who have been blessed as I have." Harry noticed the small frown that now adorned Hermione's face. Ron looked smug and Harry had a suspicion of why; Hermione excelled through books and he was willing to wager Ron was looking forward to see how she'd cope.

"I cannot teach you the art of loud bangs, to decipher smells, or render yourself invisible," she continued, her voice floating in the same mystical tone, "but I can help you penetrate and navigate the fog of the future if you among the blessed." Harry was immediately suspicious of the professor's tonal quality—she couldn't possibly talk like this normally. Professor Trewlaney seated herself in a winged armchair beside the fire.

"You boy," she said suddenly to Neville, "is your grandmother well?"

"I—I think so," said Neville, fearful of her intense gaze.

"I should think not," she said with a sad smile. "We will cover the basic methods of Divination this year. We will begin by reading the tea leaves—an art that requires little preparation but is most dependent on a keen eye and…a bit of gifted insight. We shall then progress to palmistry, the art of reading the pre-woven tapestries sown unknowingly into the sinew of our hands." She craned her neck suddenly and twisted, her piercing gaze now in the direction of Parvati Patil. "Beware, my dear, of a red-haired man." Parvati spun in her chair, scanning the room with worried eyes until they landed on Ron, who, under Parvati's intense glare, turned bright red in his cheeks.

"Sadly, we will not yet have entered our second term before one of our number will leave us forever," she said without distress. "After this disruption, we shall progress to the most prolific and iconic method of Divination, the crystal ball, provided we have also finished with fire omens. Finally, I must be bring you the unfortunate news that sometime in February, a nasty bout of flu will spread through the castle and I myself will lose my voice. Such is the curse of the gift of Sight." Silence fell over the classroom as Trelawey surveyed each student a second time.

"I wonder, dear," she said at last to Lavender Brown, "If you would fetch me the largest silver teapot?" Excited that nothing horrible was going to happen to her, she leapt from her chair to the shelf nearest her and retrieved the teapot, setting it down on the table in front of Professor Trelawney.

"Thank you kindly, my dear," she said with a toothless smile. "I am sorry to say that the thing you are dreading—you know the one—it will happen on Friday the sixteenth of October." Lavender retreated to her seat, her eyes downcast and lips trembling. Harry had never experience a class quite like this one. He was beginning to feel as though he made a mistake. Sure enough, he caught Hermione mutter his thoughts under her breath.

"What a load of rubbish," she said. "Vague warnings that can mean almost anything."

"Now, I want you all to divide into pairs. Bring you teacups to me and I shall pour the tea. Drink until only the dregs remain. Stir these remnants 'round your cup three times with the left hand and do not worry about the direction—you will stir in the direction best suited to you—place the cup upside down upon its saucer, wait for the last drip of tea to drain away, then trade your cup with your partner to read. You will interpret the patters that reveal themselves found on pages five and six of your textbook. I shall move among you, observing, aiding where necessary." She caught Neville by the arm as he stood up.

"My dear, once you've broken your first cup, please take one of the blue patterned ones, if you would be so kind," she said. "I'm quite attached to the pink ones—they remind me of my great-great-grandmother, whom I still commune with when she feels the need to pass through the realm between realms." No sooner had Trelawney made her request that Neville dropped his teacup onto the wooden floor where it smashed into several pieces. Professor Trelawney glided over to him with dustpan and brush in hand, pointing to the shelf at the back of the room.

"One of the blue ones, then, dear," she reminded him, "and be sure to take a matching saucer—uniformity is crucial when delving into the unknown."

Harry, Ron, and Hermione went back to their table and attempted to drink the scalding tea as quickly as possible. The tea had a horrible taste, reminding Harry of a mild batch of Polyjuice Potion. Trelawney had informed them sugar interfered with the formation of the dregs, so there was no hope in making the task pleasant. Once they had consumed their tea, they each passed their cups in a circular motion, with Ron receiving Harry's cup, Hermione had Ron's, and Harry got Hermione's.

"All I see is a load of soggy tea leaves," said Harry, sleepily. The perfumed incense of the room was shutting his brain down.

"Broaden you minds, my dears," cried Trelawney desperately as many in the room had the same look of desperate confusion over their tea cups. "Allow your eyes to see past the mundane!"

"I think you've got a sort of crooked cross here…" said Hermione as she examined Ron's cup while looking over Unfogging the Future. "Trials and suffering—hmm…and maybe a sun—great happiness…"

"So I'm going to suffer and be happy about it," asked Ron as he turned Harry's cup into the light. "It has to be better than that!"

"Hermione, I think you've got a butterfly," said Harry, rocking the cup back and forth beneath the light. "let me see," he said, skimming the pages of his text, "ah, here it is—transformation." He twirled the cup again and narrowed his eyes. "And there's this," he said. "If I turn it this way, it's just a blob, but when I twist it, it sort of looks like a candle…" He consulted his text again. "Ah, here we go—illumination or revelation. And I think there's one more thing here." He turned the cup a third time and consulted his text again. "I think it's an arch—means a new direction or path—so it looks like you're going to experience a transformation that will illuminate a new path in life."

"I think I know what direction that will be," said Hermione rolling her eyes.

"Mad," said Ron, shaking his head. "What kind of help is that?"

"I dunno," said Harry. "Sounds a bit more pleasant than what you've got to look forward too."

"Load of rubbish anyway," said Ron, licking his lips as he examined Harry's cup. "Let's see…this blob sort of looks like an acorn." He ran his finger down the page. "A windfall of unexpected gold—excellent—you can lend me some." He spun the cup clockwise. "Some kind of animal here…see the head? Looks like a hippo, or maybe a sheep?"

"I suppose that means I'll be crushed by a heavy burden or something," asked Harry with a chuckle. Hermione too struggled to contain her fit of giggles.

"May I see the cup, my dear," asked Trelawney as she gave them a reproachful glance. Harry imagined the professor did not take kindly to their skepticism. She took the cup and rotated it counterclockwise beneath the firelight, her mouth slightly agape and her brows furrowed.

"The falcon," she said in quiet voice. "You have a deadly enemy, my dear."

"I could have told you that," whispered Harry.

"I beg your pardon, dear," said Trelawney looking up from the cup.

"Everyone knows he has a deadly enemy," answered Hermione. "Everybody knows about Harry and You-Know-Who."

"Of course," said Trelawney with a pitiful stare toward Hermione. "But I wonder, perhaps it is not You-Know-Who the divine is warning him about?"

"Everybody knows about Sirius Black too if they bothered to read the paper," said Hermione. Harry and Ron looked at her with complete disbelief. They had never known Hermione to actually question a teacher before. Professor Trelawney did not reply, but returned her gaze to the cup, turning it further counterclockwise.

"The club; a sign of a future attack," she said, her voice picking up pace. "From someone you know or someone yet to be, it is unclear. Be on guard, Mr. Potter…this cup is not a happy one." She turned the cup again.

"Not all is grim," she said. "See the candle? And look here…the ram. When these two appear it is often a sign that a great responsibility will fall to you…the divine works in mysterious ways." She rotated the cup for the third time and gasped. She sank into her armchair, clutching her chest.

"My dear boy—such burden is the Sight—No, please do not ask."

"What do you see, Professor," asked Parvati.

"My dear," she said, looking fully at Harry, "you have the Grim."

"The what," asked Harry.

"The Grim, my dear, the giant, spectral dog that haunts churchyards," she cried. "The very worst omen that reveals itself in the tea leaves—the omen of death!" Ron nearly fell from his chair. Several students gasped. Harry felt his breath catch in his throat.

"I don't think it looks like the Grim," said Hermione. She had picked up the cup and was turning it beneath the light of the fire. "Look at the back of the head—see how it flares out—looks more like a lion to me. And if you turn it this way," she continued, "it resembles a sphinx. Both of these have completely different meanings from the Grim." She looked over her textbook and found both.

"The lion signifies savior or destroyer—a paradox essentially. That makes sense; Harry defeated You-Know-Who as an infant and our world calls him the savior. It can likewise be said he's the destroyer; he defeated the most powerful dark wizard in history, ending not only his power, but the collapsing the entire power structure You-Know-Who established."

"The sphinx, on the other hand," she continued, "denotes guardianship and protection. Honestly, these can be interpreted in a dozen ways and we'd be no surer of one interpretation over another."

Professor Trelawney was clearly not accustomed to students questioning her; she eyed Hermione with visible dislike. Harry meanwhile, couldn't have felt more at ease. She had singularly cast doubt over the reliability of reading tea leaves.

"You'll forgive me, dear, for saying so, but I perceive little aura around you," she said tersely. "I see very little receptivity to the resonances and vibrations of the future."

"You'll forgive me, I hope, for not jumping at the first possible conclusion of my best friend's fate," said Hermione stubbornly.

"But Hermione," said Ron, looking at the cup, "You can't deny it does look like the Grim at the right angle? My uncle Bilius saw one—died twenty-four hours later!"

"Oh Ron, the chances of those being remotely related—"

"You don't know what you're talking about," protested Ron. "Grims scare the living daylights out of most wizards!"

"Superstition, then," said Hermione defiantly. "He saw the grim and died of fright, and why? Because he and so many of you have been taught they mean something they can't possibly have any control over. Harry, on the other hand, isn't stupid enough to see one and think, right, well, I'd better kick the bucket then! He has enough real problems to contend with already."

"My dear, it is best not to speak of things you know nothing about," said Trelawney, butting in.

"Right, well, when you've all finished deciding if I'm going to die or not, I'd appreciate a consensus at the very least," said Harry who was now getting quite irritated.

"I think we shall leave the lesson here for today," said Professor Trelawney. "Please put away your things…and you, dear boy," she said, pointing to Neville, "You'll work hard to catch up, yes, as you'll be late next lesson?"

Together, the three of them descended from the tower and made their way to Transfiguration. Harry chose a seat at the back of the room, fully conscious of the eyes that kept darting in his direction. Hermione continually muttered under her breath, telling him to just ignore them, but similarly to dealing with his fame, Harry found it difficult to avoid wandering eyes. Ron and Hermione didn't talk to one another the whole way to class, silently agreeing to disagree about Harry's death omen.

He had agreed with Hermione; those signs could certainly be interpreted any number of ways, but he still could not shake the unease that sat in the pit of his stomach. Logically, he doubted very much the revelations of tea leaves had any applicable and insightful knowledge for him. In his heart, however, he was aware of who he was; danger always came looking. In his two years of Hogwarts so far, he found himself face-to-face with Lord Voldemort, each time certain that death awaited him. He was so lost in his thoughts that he hardly payed attention to Professor McGonagall's explanation of Anamagi and certainly didn't register her transform into the tabby cat that had greeted him on his very first Transfiguration lesson.

"I must say," said Professor McGonagall with notable disappointment in her voice, "I've never known this class to be so inattentive—not that it matters—but that's the first time I've not received applause for my transformation."

"Sorry, professor," said Hermione at once. "We've just has our first Divination lesson and several students are under the impression that one of us fated to die." Hermione's skeptical tone did not go unnoticed Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil shot her rolling eyes.

"Say no more, Miss Granger," said Professor McGonagall, shaking her head and frowning. "Tell me, which of you shall be dying this year?" She looked expectantly around the room, paying no attention to the stares of disbelief.

"Apparently I am," said Harry.

"Of course it is," said McGonagall, muttering. "You should know, Potter, that Sibyll Trelawney, bless her, has predicted the death of at least one student a year since she first arrived at this school. You'll be pleased to know that not a single one of them has died yet. Seeing death omens is her favorite way of greeting a new class. I assure you, Potter, that if you die, you need not hand in any homework."

Harry and Hermione laughed, while some of the students offered up half-hearted smiles. Harry felt significantly better through the rest of the class, ignoring Lavender, who continued to remind them about Neville's cup. Ron however, would not let the matter rest. As they poured over lunch, Ron tried again.

"You think its coincidence then," said Ron over his glass of pumpkin juice, "that Harry just happens to have the Grim in his cup and has nothing to do with Sirius Black breaking out of prison?"

"Yes, I do," said Hermione. "I think Divination is a lot of guesswork."

"There was nothing mistaking the Grim, Hermione!"

"You weren't so sure when you thought it looked like a sheep."

"Ron—" Harry said, trying to head off an imminent row, but he was too late.

"I'm not a seer, am I," said Ron, turning red. "Professor Trelawney said you didn't have the right aura, didn't she? You're just upset there's finally a class you aren't good at."

Hermione slammed her Arithmancy book down on the table hard, spilling her glass of pumpkin juice in the process. She remedied the situation easily enough with a simple flick of her wand and returned her gaze to Ron.

"If being good at Divination means I have to pretend to see death omen in lumps of tea leaves, or terrible suffering inside a ball of glass, I'm not sure I'll be studying it much longer," she said, her voice climbing in volume with each syllable. "That lesson was absolute rubbish compared to my Arithmancy class!"

"You haven't had an Arithmancy class!" shouted Ron. Hermione snatched up her bag and began walking away. Before she left though, she turned on her heels and shot Ron a disappointed look.

"I don't know why you are so insistent that Harry should be scared senseless of an omen; he has enough to contend with, don't you think?"

"Bloody mental," muttered Ron, sticking his fork into a potato. "She hasn't been to an Arithmancy class—it's just not possible." Harry however paid little attention to Ron as he watched Hermione exit the Great Hall. He had felt a great deal of comfort in her presence since his encounter with the Dementor on the train. She had watched over him, hand-fed him chocolate and kept a watchful eye over him since their visit with Dumbledore. He looked back to Ron who was chewing a mouthful of carrots. Hermione had always shown concern for his well-being, but this year she seemed even more protective than ever. He felt a knot form in his stomach. Something was changing between the three of them—he just wasn't sure what that was.


	9. A New Perspective

**Chapter Nine: A New Perspective**

Ron and Hermione's silent argument lasted well beyond lunch as the three of them stepped out onto the castle grounds that afternoon. Last night's rain had cleared, leaving a clear blue sky above them as they carefully descended the wet and spongy slopping hills to Hagrid's hut for their first ever Care of Magical Creatures class.

Hagrid was waiting for them at the door of his small circular-shaped hut with Fang sitting at his feet looking bored. However, Harry was soon distracted as he realized the class contained not only his fellow Gryffindors, but Slytherin students as well. He didn't have long to ponder this unwelcome discovery before Malfoy opened his mouth, his cool grey eyes lit gleefully at Harry's approach.

"Surprised Madam Pompfrey didn't have you sent off to St. Mungos, Potter," said Malfoy, his voice cold and harsh, even as he joined in laughter with his fellow Slytherins.

"Surprised your dad isn't in Azkaban," said Harry, his voice audible enough for Malfoy to hear.

"You'll get yours, Potter," said Malfoy as his smile faded. "You and that Muggle-loving fool."

"I'm sure Dumbledore is terrified," said Harry, resisting the urge to smile.

"Let it be, Harry," said Hermione pulling on his robes and dragging him toward the front of the class. Harry was ready to retort but Hagrid stepped down in front of them then, his own copy of the class textbook in one hand and a large brown rucksack in the other and flung over his massive shoulder.

"Gather 'round, everyone," said Hagrid, his voice booming. "Got a special treat for yeh today. Follow me—this way!" Hagrid led them several minutes away from the hut. They traveled along the tree line of the Forbidden Forest, but this evidently, was not their final destination. Instead, Hagrid had delivered them to a secluded paddock that was surprisingly empty.

"Alrigh', class, gather 'round so I can go over a few things with yeh," he beckoned. "That's it—make sure yeh can see me—now, first' thing I need yeh ter do is open yer books."

"And how are we supposed to do that," asked Malfoy. Harry looked around to Malfoy and the rest of his classmates. Every textbook, like his own, had been sealed shut in some fashion, either by a belt, Spellotape, or some other method, everyone, Harry concluded, except Hermione. She held hers open, waiting to be directed. Harry smiled inwardly. He leaned over and asked her how she'd done it.

"Think about it, Harry," she said. "This is Hagrid we're talking about. Remember what he told us in our first year about any animal?" Harry racked his brain and felt as though he'd been kicked in the stomach.

" _The trick to any beast is to know how to calm it_ ," repeated Harry. He looked at the book. He remembered Fluffy, the vicious three-headed Cerberus that was easily made docile with the playing of music. He watched Hagrid scratch the back of Fang's ear and then it struck him. He stroked the spine of the large text and immediately felt the book shiver and relax. Hermione beamed at him as he loosened the belt. Just as he opened his book, Hagrid addressed the class, answering them as though the solution had been obvious.

"Yeh've to ter stroke 'em," he said, taking Neville's book. He ripped the fastened belt clean into pieces and brushed the spine with his thumb before the book could bite him. The Monster Book of Monsters fell open in his hands and purred like a tame kitten. The class followed Hagrid's demonstration and soon every book was open.

"Let tha' be yer firs' lesson when dealin' with magical creatures," he said, puffing out his chest. "If yeh want ter understand magical creatures, yeh got ter be willin' ter take some risks."

"I don't want to understand them," protested Draco, "magical creatures are supposed to be ruled by wizards."

"An' the second thing yeh'll want ter do, is to learn how to calm 'em," continued Hagrid, ignoring Malfoy. "Besides, I thought they were funny." He looked to Harry, Hermione, and Ron for confirmation.

"They are clever, Hagrid," said Hermione. Hagrid's eyes nearly vanished with his large grin.

"Righ' then," said Hagrid, looking encouraged. "Time ter fetch the magical creatures. Hang on…" Hagrid was soon beyond the trees and out of sight.

"I can't believe that oaf is teaching," said Malfoy loudly, once he'd made sure Hagrid was well out of earshot. "Bad enough they let Mudbloods and blood traitors in, but Dumbledore's lost it with that imbecile. Just wait until my father hears about this."

"Shut up, Malfoy," said Harry dully. "If you don't like Professor Hagrid, drop the class."

"Father says Hogwarts has been going down the drain since Dumbledore became headmaster," said Draco in his speech to the Slytherins. "First thing he did was remove a whole selection of books from the library because they dealt with magic he didn't agree with."

"I'm sure Professor Dumbledore had good reason to remove them," said Hermione. "They were probably filled with dark magic that no one—particularly a student—should ever learn, let alone have need too."

"No one asked for your opinion, Mudblood," spat Malfoy. Harry raised his wand. Ron took Hermione's other side and raised his as well.

"No, Harry," said Hermione, catching his wrist. "This is exactly what he wants." She gave Ron an expectant look. Ron gave Malfoy a contemptuous glare and lowered his wand. Malfoy looked ready for more but a squeal from Lavender Brown caught their attention.

A dozen bizarre creatures trotted toward the paddock. It took nearly a full minute for Harry to even register what he was seeing, for the mysterious creatures had the rear flank and hind legs of a horse, yet they had wings and both the legs and head of giant eagles. They had large, sharp beaks, brilliant eyes of varying color, and the talons of their clawed front feet were nearly as long as Harry's hands. Each beast had a thick leather collar around their necks, attached to a long chain of which Hagrid held firmly in his hand.

"Come on," he beckoned as he tethered each animal to the fence, "yeh can come a bit closer, don' be shy." No one moved, however.

"Beau'iful, aren' they," he asked the class with his back facing them. Harry wasn't sure beautiful was the word, but he could see what Hagrid had meant. The way the creature's colorful hides seemed to mesh and transform into feather toward the creature's heads was a marvelous sight. They were a myriad of color: stormy gray, bronze, pinkish roan, gleaming chestnut, inky black; each one an equally unique and striking color.

"Hippogriffs," said Hagrid, gesturing yet again toward the proud animals. "Yeh'll find 'em on page seventy-nine in the book." Hermione immediately began turning pages.

"Firs' thing yeh gotta know abou' Hippogriffs, and mos' creatures ter be honest," said Hagrid, "is they're proud animals. Easy to offend, they are. Never treat any creature with disrespect, but 'specialy not a Hippogriff. Might be the last thing yeh ever do."

"They're clever beasts," Hagrid went on, "they can understan' yeh better than yeh probably think they can. Always wait fer the Hippogriff ter make the firs' move; it's polite, see? Now, I'm gonna show yeh how it's done, and then I'll let a couple o' yeh give it a try, yeah?" He walked over to stormy gray one, the fiercest looking of the bunch in Harry's opinion, and removed the leather color. Hagrid then stepped away several paces and waited until he had the Hippogriffs attention.

"Once yeh 'ave eye contact, you bow to 'im," instructed Hagrid, bowing slowly to the animal, though he never broke eye contact. "Don' break eye contact, and try not ter blink more 'an necessary—makes 'em jumpy—an' trus' me, you won' like that one bit." Hagrid held his bow for several seconds and then, eliciting several gasps of awe from the students, the Hippogriff bent it's front limbs into a very obvious but dignified bow. Harry smiled as the Gryffindors all broke out into a round of applause. From the corner of his eyes, he watched the inattentive Malofy, Crabbe, and Goyle mutter under hushed voices. _What were they up too?_

"Thank yeh," said Hagrid with another courteous bow. "Now, who wants ter try firs'?" The class fell silent and took a collected step away from the paddock.

"No one," asked Hagrid, his brows furrowed.

"I'll try," said Harry at last, only to find he hadn't been the only one to speak. Hermione had raised her hand and though she looked unsure of her decision, her eyes danced with determination.

"Both of yeh come up here beside me," said Hagrid. "Yeh can both have a go with Buckbeack here," he said, gesturing toward the same stormy gray Hippogriff.

"Harry, you really shouldn't," said Parvati, "don't forget what Professor Trelawney told you this morning—"

"What did that old bat say to Potter," asked Malfoy. Harry groaned; of course Malfoy was paying attention now. Determined to ignore the git and Parvati, Harry followed Hermione toward Hagrid and rounded on his heels to face the Hippogriff.

"Now, I want yeh to try one at a time," instructed Hagrid. "Harry, yeh go first."

Harry took only a single step forward, his eyes already starting to water as he forced himself not to blink. Buckbeak turned his head and Harry felt uneasy under the gaze of the Hippogriff's burning sun-orange eyes. Harry waited for what felt like several eternities before Hagrid spoke again.

"Excellent, 'Arry, yeh got 'is attention," said Hagrid, clapping his hands together. "Now, bow to 'im, 'Arry, nice an' slow…"

Harry swallowed and slowly exposed the top of his head to the beast, fully aware of the neck hairs standing on end as he did so. Still, he did his best to keep eye contact and not blink. After a few minutes, Harry felt his knees shake and his neck muscles tighten. The Hippogriff cocked his head to the side but did not move otherwise.

"Right," said Hagrid, sounding worried for the first time, "Back away slowly, 'Arry, but don't break eye contact." But Harry couldn't. He wanted too. His knees had locked and though his mind urged his body to move, the nerves in his body refused to obey.

"'Arry, yeh need ter move back now," said Hagrid again. Harry continued to hold the creature's gaze. Then, the Hippogriff turned his body to face him and bent forward in a very discernable bow.

"Well done, 'Arry," said Hagrid, stepping forward and clapping Harry on the shoulder. "Knew yeh had it inside o' yeh. Go on—yeh can pat 'im on his beak." Harry looked questioningly at Hagrid and then to Hermione. She looked worried, but Harry have her a reassuring nod and took a tentative step forward to find himself surprised once more as the Hippogriff approached him as well. Harry held out his hand, trying desperately to contain the evident shaking that pulsed through his entire body. Buckbeak lowered his head and Harry patted the Hippogriff on the beak. Harry was astounded; the Hippogriff closed his eyes lazily and even pushed up against his hand affectionately.

"Good show, 'Arry, good show," said Hagrid. "Now, let's let Hermione 'ave a go."

"She's a friend," he said to the Hippogriff without thinking as he gave Buckbeak another pat on the beak. Buckbeak blinked his eyes at him once and Harry was sure the Hippogriff gave a subtle nod. But he didn't dwell on it as he turned back toward Hagrid, his back fully exposed to Buckbeak. Harry gave Hermione an encouraging smile and moved out of the way.

"Hi Buckbeak," said Hermione. Her voice was a bit shaky but she had captured the Hippogriff's attention. What had felt like ages to Harry had passed in seconds for Hermione as she bowed to the magnificent creature, her chocolate brown eyes unblinking and full of concentration. It was equally startling, though, to see the Hippogriff bow almost simultaneously with Hermione. Harry watched fondly as Hermione's face lit up into toothy grin and saw with equal amusement her struggle to contain her own excitement. As Buckbeak had done with him, the Hippogriff lowered his head for Hermione to pet him. Hagrid clapped enthusiastically, gesturing for the class to do the same. Harry joined Hermione and patted the Hippogriffs beak while she stroked his feathers.

"They are beautiful," said Hermione, giving him another toothy grin. Buckbeak responded to the praise and nuzzled Hermione, sending her into a small fit of giggles.

"How am I doin'," Hagrid asked them in whisper.

"Brilliantly, _Professor_ ," said Harry.

"Definitely better than Divination," agreed Hermione. "And Potions," she added.

"Well, I don' suppose yeh two want a ride," he asked. Before either of them could object, Hagrid had lifted Harry high off his feet and sat him just behind Buckbeak's wing joints. He then lifted Hermione and sat her behind Harry. Hermione immediately latched onto Harry as though her life had depended on it.

"Go on, then," shouted Hagrid, slapping the Hippogriff's hindquarters.

Hermione screamed and tightened her grip around Harry's torso and Buckbeak set off at an unsteady gallop. His wings expanded and began to beat in an uncomfortable rhythm and threatened to knock the pair of them off. Harry latched onto the Hippogriff's neck as he felt Buckbeak kick off the ground and the trees and green vanished beneath him.

Buckbeak soared higher and higher with each tremendous thrust of his winds. Soon they were well over a hundred feet in the air and all of Hogwarts came into view.

"I hate flying," shouted Hermione, her hold on Harry increasingly painful as she took fistfuls of his shirt into her hands. The wind beneath Buckbeak's wings washed over them in powerful gusts as they drew level with the Astronomy Tower. And then the flying turned almost smooth as Buckbeak's wings spread flat while they glided between the castle towers and turrets. Buckbeak leaned to the left and the Black Lake stretched out toward the mountains before them.

"Hermione, look," said Harry.

"I can't," she breathed.

"Yes you can, come on," he said again. "You'll be disappointed if you don't."

"Oh," she said, her chin resting on his shoulder and their cheeks touching. The Black Lake sparkled beneath them and the pale-blue hue of the distant mountains disappeared into the bright blue of the horizon.

"Still hate flying," he asked.

"Yes," she said. Harry could feel the vibrations of her words on his cheek. "But I do love the view."

"I could spend all day up here."

"Wouldn't you rather be on your broom?"

"A broom is a bit smoother," admitted Harry, "but I'll take whatever freedom I can get."

"Explain."

"I'm not sure I can."

"Try."

"There's nothing to worry about up here," he said. "No death omens, no homework, no chores, no mass murders, no fame, nothing—it all fades away up here."

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I suspected—I shouldn't have asked."

"It's fine."

"I hope you know I never think of you as anything other than Harry," she said.

"Nothing," he asked, feigning hurt.

"You know what I mean," she said. "You're my best friend, Harry; stubborn, prone to trouble, brave, and a heart of pure gold."

"You're my best friend too, you know."

"Am I, Harry?"

"You know you are," he said. "Why is that even a question?"

"What about Ron?"

"He's my best-mate."

"Harry, you're contradicting yourself."

"I know," said Harry smiling.

"Explain." Harry laughed.

"I'm not sure I can."

"Try," she said again. Buckbeak leaned to the left again as Hagrid and the student came into view, tiny dots next to the forest.

"Ron's a bloke, like me," he said with a shrug. "We do things that bloke's do: get into trouble for no good reason other than to do it, we share stupid and immature jokes, and get into fights without thinking about why and sometimes without a reason at all. He's the brother I never had."

"Go on."

"And then there's you; fixing my glasses when they're broken, helping me piece mysteries together to confront dark lords, and making sure I get my homework done—"

"So I'm your mother?"

"Let me finish," he said. "You defend me when you don't have too, you put my mind at ease, you support me even when you disagree, tell me I'm great when I don't believe it, and you'd walk through fire if you thought you could help me. You're not like a sister, but you treat me as though I'm family. I don't know what to call you except my best friend."

"It will do for now," she said as they both felt the heavy thud of Buckbeak's hooves and claws hit the ground.

"Good work, yeh two," said Hagrid, helping them both dismount. He turned to the rest of the class. "Everyone ready ter give it a go?" Emboldened by Harry and Hermione's spectacular show of success, the rest of the class stepped into the paddock as Hagrid released the tethers of the reaming Hippogriff heard. Harry and Hermione stepped away after patting Buckbeak goodbye and watched the class from the other side of the paddock.

"Oh no," said Hermione, pointing to Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle. They had each approached Buckbeak. Malfoy strutted toward the stormy gray Hippogriff.

"Hagrid," said Harry, but Hagrid didn't hear him.

"Hagrid," he yelled. Malfoy approached the Hippogriff and wasn't stopping. The Hippogriff let out a low screech and dug his claws into the dirt.

"You're not dangerous, are you," drawled Malfoy, his hand outstretched. He had not followed Hagrid's procedural instructions. "Are you, you great ugly brute?" Hagrid turned but it was too late. It was over in a flash as talons ripped through fabric and flesh. Malfoy let out a terrifying scream as the arm sleeve of his robe turned damp with blood.

"I'm dying," screamed Malfoy.

"Yer not dyin," said Hagrid, his face turning white. "'Arry, get Buckback outta here." Harry lept over the paddock fencing and called to Buckbeak, his hands gesturing invitingly for the magnificent beast. Buckbeak screeched again but took several steps back before turning to approach Harry. Once Harry had Buckbeak a safe distance away, Hagrid lifted Malfoy into his arms and set off immediately toward the castle. Class was over. Buckbeak nuzzled his beak into Harry's hand. Harry smiled at the Hippogriff but inside his stomach was filled with tremors. Madam Pompfrey could mend whatever injury Malfoy had sustained. No, he knew Malfoy; Hagrid's troubles were just about to begin.

 **Author's Note:** Hope you all enjoyed the chapter. Another hopeful twist to a familiar scene. I know some of you are waiting to see more divergence, and we will get there, but you'll need to be patient, I'm afraid. 3rd year for Harry will be fairly canon compliant as I make subtle changes in order to set the scene for the bigger divergences that will occur in year 4. Think of it as building the ripples. They will turn to waves.


	10. Afraid of Fear

**Chapter Ten: Afraid of Fear**

"Sorry I'm late, Professor," said Malfoy on Thursday morning. He stumbled into the dungeon classroom halfway through the double Potions period, his right arm covered in bandages from his elbow down to his wrist and bound in a sling. News of Malfoys encounter with the Hippogriff had traveled quickly through Hogwarts; Buckbeak's talons had cut past skin and muscles, scraping the bone. He had also sustained several scratches across his abdomen, though Madam Pompfrey had concluded they were minor flesh wounds and had sorted them out easily enough. The school nurse had been ready to let Draco return after the one night in the infirmary, but Draco had insisted he was in great pain. Harry did not believe this, of course—he'd sustained far more grievous injuries in his time at Hogwarts and Madam Pompfrey had never failed him.

Hagrid had taken the whole situation personally. Professor Dumbledore had accompanied Hagrid back to the paddock once Malfoy was admitted into the hospital ward. Dumbledore at first was surprised Hagrid had chosen Hippogriffs as his first lesson, but Harry, along with Ron and Hermione, quickly explained to the headmaster what had really happened. Dumbledore thanked them and told them their collaboration would be helpful when he dealt with the school governors later that day. Feeling hopeful for Hagrid, Harry did his best to ignore Malfoy's exaggerated illness.

"Quite understandable, Mr. Malfoy," said Snape, looking up from his desk. "If you are up to it, you should still have adequate time in completing the assignment for today."

"I think so, Sir," said Malfoy, wobbling to his seat beside Pansy Parkinson.

"Oh, does it hurt, Draco," she whimpered.

"Yeah," said Malfoy. "Dreadful, really, but I have to go on with life, don't I?"

"Git," Ron muttered as he sliced up his daisy roots on Harry's left.

"It's obvious what he's trying to do," whispered Hermione, leaning over Harry's right shoulder. "You know how Draco's father is—we haven't heard the last of this." Harry nodded.

"Sir," said Malfoy, "I'll need help cutting these daisy roots, my arm—"

"Weasley, help Mr. Malfoy with his roots," said Snape. Harry watched his lips curl into a thin smile. Ron seized his knife, stormed over to Malfoy's desk and started to chop the roots in a very sloppy manner.

"Professor—Weasley's destroying my roots!"

Snape rose from his desk and approached their table and observed the mutilated roots.

"Weasley, you will exchange your roots with Mr. Malfoy's."

"I ruddy will not!"

"I will not repeat myself."

Ron huffed back to his seat, cupped the roots he had spent the last quarter of an hour meticulously slicing into equal pieces and slammed them hard onto Malfoy's table.

"Enjoy," he muttered and returned to his seat and started to repair the damage to the roots he was now forced to use.

"Sir, the shrivelfig," said Malfoy suggestively.

"Potter, skin Mr. Malfoy's shrivelfig."

"No thank you, Sir," said Harry politely.

"Do you wish to test my patience today, Potter?"

"Professor, what would cause a Hippogriff to attack a student?"

"I daresay any number of things, Potter," said Snape, his voice dangerously low. "Regardless, Hippogriffs are hardly appropriate for a first class introduction to magical creatures."

"No one else was injured," argued Harry. "I practiced with the same Hippogriff that attacked Malfoy, Sir, and I'm just fine."

"I see," said Snape, his eyes narrowing sharply and his lips curling into the scowl he reserved just for him, "Well Potter, not all of us can be as fortunate as you are, can we?'

"Professor, if I had been injured by a Hippogriff, would you order Malfoy to help me with my roots or my shrivelfig," he asked. He felt Hermione grip his wrist in warning, but the injustice of the whole thing had made his blood boil.

"No, you wouldn't," Harry answered for him. "Malfoy deserves what he got—if he had listened to Professor Hagrid he wouldn't have been hurt."

"How ironic," said Snape, "you, lecturing a fellow student for his inability to pay attention; Potter, you will skin Mr. Malfoy's shrivelfig or it'll be a zero for the day."

"I'll take the zero, Sir," said Harry. Snape glowered triumphantly and returned to his desk.

"Harry, what were you thinking," said Hermione. "You could have gotten into so much trouble."

"I'm not taking it anymore, Hermione," said Harry as he set about skinning his shrivelfig. Even though he wouldn't be earning any marks for his work today, he was determined to complete the potion in spite of Snape. Disappointed as Hermione may have been with his response, he was sure he caught a smile from the corner of his eye when he continued to work on his potion.

The remainder of class had gone steadily downhill after Harry's confrontation with Snape. Neville had a full nervous breakdown after the dressing down Snape had done over his orange potion. Hermione helped Neville set it right, whispering instructions across the aisle. Of course, Snape had realized this once the shrinking potion worked as intended on Neville's toad.

"Twenty points from Gryffindor," said Snape. He rounded on Hermione, his eyes full of accusation. "I told you not to help him, Granger. So that's ten points for you not following my instructions, and ten from Potter for his cheek." He looked over Harry's potion, unable to hide his surprise to find an acid-green potion simmering calmly beneath his hooked nose.

"I recall informing you, Potter, that you would be receiving a zero for the day?"

"You did, Sir."

"Why then, did you complete the assignment?"

"Because I still have to learn, don't I," said Harry. _And I couldn't think of a better way to tell you off_ , he thought to himself.

"Get out of my sight."

 **() () ()**

"That was brilliant," said Ron as they ascended from the dungeons. "You really got to Snape today." Harry shrugged and looked over his shoulder, expecting to find Hermione with several prepared words, but she wasn't there.

"Where'd Hermione go," he asked Ron. Ron looked down the stairs.

"She was right behind us," said Ron. "I saw her leave with us."

"You don't think she went back, do you?"

"Why would she?" Harry shrugged again and started back up the stairs to find Hermione walking several steps ahead of them.

"Hermione," said Harry, his voice carrying up the stairwell. She turned on her heels and waited for them.

"How did you do that," asked Ron. "I swear you were behind us when we'd left Potions."

"You weren't paying attention, obviously," she said. "I walked right past you. Hurry up, or we'll be late for Defense."

"She didn't walk past us," said Ron, leaning in as they followed Hermione. "I'm telling you, something weird is going on."

Professor Lupin was waiting for them as they piled into the classroom. They sat down, took out their books, parchment, and quills and waited. Professor Lupin smiled at them as placed his ragged briefcase on the teacher's desk and opened it with a quick swish of his wand. Today he wore heavily patched shirt and the same grey, tattered robes as when they'd met him on the train. But, Harry noticed, he looked healthier than he had on the train. Harry suspected the Professor did not eat particularly well, familiar as he was with food scarcity during his summer months.

"Good afternoon," he said. "If you'd all kindly follow me—you can leave your books—and bring your wands? Today's lesson will be practical." The class got its feet and followed Professor Lupin out of the classroom and then down a deserted corridor and finally down a second with a door at the very end. It was the teacher's staffroom.

"Inside, if you please," encouraged Professor Lupin.

The staffroom was immaculate; brightly lit with colored panels along the walls and filled with mismatched chairs of every kind imaginable. A large fireplace was tucked into the far corner with several armchairs arranged around it in a semi-circle. In one of those armchairs was none other than Professor Snape.

"Please, Lupin, leave the door open," said Snape as he vacated his chair. "I dare not witness the travesty this class is likely to be." He quickly paced the length of the room and stepped through the door Lupin held open. Before he left, though, Snape gave the professor a warning.

"In the likely event no one's told you, Lupin, this class contains Neville Longbottom, a witless wonder incapable of completing the simplest of tasks, unless of course, Granger is hissing instructions in his ear." Neville shrunk behind Seamus and Dean.

"I'm sure Neville will be more than up to the task at hand today, Severus," said Lupin with a small smile. Snape didn't reply to Lupin and left the room, slamming the door behind him. Lupin appeared unfazed by Snape's sudden and unprovoked bullying of Neville. He walked over to a nearby wardrobe. For a moment, Harry expected Lupin to retrieve something from it when it shook violently, banging loudly off the wall. Harry and the rest of the class jumped back.

"It's alright," said Professor Lupin with a second encouraging smile. "Nothing inside the wardrobe we can't handle together. As I understand it, many of you have already had a Care of Magical Creatures class earlier this week, is that right?"

"Yes, Sir," said Hermione quickly. "We studied Hippogriffs."

"Very good," said Lupin with a curt nod. "I understand it you have had a rather disrupted study in this course, and we'll be doing plenty of catch-up work in the coming weeks, but the typical subject matter covered in your third year is the study of Dark Magical Creatures and how to combat them, which is what we'll be doing today." The wardrobe wobbled again.

"A Boggart," answered Lupin, nodding curtly to the wardrobe. "They like dark, enclosed spaces. Wardrobes, cupboards, gaps beneath beds, discarded trunks—I once found one lodged inside a grandfather clock. Not necessarily the brightest of dark creatures that exist in the world, however, under the right circumstances and without the proper tools, they can be quite dangerous to the unsuspecting witch or wizard. This one moved in yesterday, I believe. Professor Dumbledore offered to remove it, but I thought a Boggart would make an excellent introductory lesson to your third year Defense Against the Dark Arts. So, we must ask ourselves, what is a Boggart?"

Hermione launched her hand into the air.

"Hermione?"

"Yes, Sir, the Boggart is a shape-shifter," she said. "It takes the shape of whatever it thinks will frighten us most."

"Very good," said Lupin. "When I let the Boggart out, he will assume the form of whatever it thinks will frighten us most. However, the Boggart inside this wardrobe is sitting inside shapeless, as it does not yet know what will frighten the person who first comes into contact with it. For now, we have the upper hand. Have you spotted it, Harry?"

"No Sir," said Harry quickly.

"Why do you suppose that is?"

"There's too many of us," said Harry. "It doesn't know what shape to take."

"Well done," he said. "This is the first rule when tackling Boggarts; always have company when approaching Boggarts. It can confuse them and sometimes winning the battle before there is one. Should he turn into a headless corpse, a flesh-eating slug, or a giant python? I've known Boggarts to make that very mistake—tried to frighten two people at once and turned into a half slug—quite funny looking as it turns out."

"Now, Boggarts are simple to repel in theory; it requires only a wand and a committed mind. You see, Boggarts cannot tolerate the sound of laughter. What we need to do is force the Boggart to assume a shape we find amusing. Repeat after me; _riddikulus_!"

" _Riddikulus_!"

"That was the easy part. Neville, step forward please." Neville timidly approached Lupin, eyes weary of the wardrobe.

"No need to worry just yet, Neville," said Lupin. "The Boggart won't escape the wardrobe unless I allow it. Now, I need to know, what is it you fear the most?"

"Professor Snape," whispered Neville. The whole class erupted in laughter. Lupin though looked thoughtful. Indeed, Harry thought he'd seen a flash of anger ripple through the weary Professor's eyes.

"He does his best, doesn't he," said Lupin, his cheerful demeanor returning. "Neville, correct me if I'm wrong, but I do believe you live with your grandmother, yes?"

"I don't want the Boggart to turn into her either."

"You needn't worry, Neville," said Lupin, crouching down to whisper into Neville's ear. With each passing second, Neville grew increasingly joyous.

"Now, when I release the Boggart, Neville, do as I instructed," said Lupin, his wand now directed toward the wardrobe. "Wand out, and remember the incantation: _riddikulus_. Are you ready?" Neville nodded. "Good," said Lupin. "Everyone, step back and let Neville have plenty of room. If all goes well—and it will—I will call each one of you forward to tackle the Boggart."

Lupin waited until the class was ready. Once they had formed an orderly line and given plenty of room for Neville, Lupin stood behind Neville and flicked his wand at the wardrobe. The wardrobe creaked open and out stepped Professor Snape, hook-nosed, eyes dancing maliciously, his wand lazily outstretched toward Neville. Neville stumbled backwards, his wand pointing uselessly toward the Boggart-Snape as his mouth moved with silent words.

"Easy does it, Neville," coached Lupin, catching Neville before he fell over. "Remember what we discussed."

"Riddikulus," said Neville, wand arm shaking. But Neville had done it; there was a loud thunder-like crack and Boggart-Snape was no longer stalking forward like a predator in his mid-night black robes; now he wore a long, lace-trimmed bright green dress with a vulture hat shoved over his greasy curtain of black hair, his wand replaced with a crimson handbag. The room roared with laughter and the Boggart-Snape stumbled, eyes darting from one laughing face to the next. The Boggart was confused.

"Parvati!"

Boggart-Snape became Boggart-Mummy with another loud crack. Its linen wraps were stained in blood.

" _Riddikulus_!"

The Boggart-Mummy unraveled and tripped.

And down the line they went. A voiceless banshee gave way to an overgrown rat that chased its own tail in endless circles, giving way to a lengthy rattlesnake turned into a balloon, giving way to a lifeless corpse that did cartwheels around the room. Harry watch with amusement as Ron confronted a fully-grown Acromantula that looked almost identical to one of Aragog's offspring.

" _Riddikulus_ ," shouted Ron, his voice pitched higher than normal. The spider's legs were not fastened to roller skates and it quickly toppled over onto its back, writhing and clicking its pincers in desperation. Harry stepped forward, ready for his turn.

Harry had thought it over, for he knew what he feared; Lord Voldemort, resurrected with all his power intact. He had a plan though. He raised his wand at the rolling spider, ready to act. But the Boggart didn't turn into Lord Voldemort, or the Tom Riddle he had confronted in the Chamber of Secrets last year. Time slowed to a crawl as black-hooded robes rose from the corpse of the spider and the skeletal hands reached outward toward him. The room had gone silent. He could see Lupin's mouth moving from the corner of his eye but he heard none of the Professor's words. Then he felt the familiar frigid air clutch at his chest as the air in his lungs froze solid. He could hear the rattling breath. And then he heard her this time; loud, frantic, and pleading. She screamed the same words in his ears. _Harry. Harry. Harry._ Then all went dark.

 **() () ()**

Harry woke in an unfamiliar place. Or at least, the contents within the room were unfamiliar. The walls were no longer covered in the self-portraits of a smiling baboon who had occupied the office in the previous year. Now, there were several bookshelves filled with tattered and worn books. However, he didn't have long to contemplate the room as his vision was soon obstructed by a tangle of curled tawny-brown hair and worry-filled chocolate eyes.

"Are you alright, Harry," she asked, looking down on him.

"I think so," he mumbled. "What happened?"

"You fainted," she said. "Here, eat this." She placed a splinter of chocolate at his lips and he ate it without questioning. "The moment you got the Boggart's attention it turned into a Dementor and you fainted almost immediately."

"Great," groaned Harry. "It'll be all over the castle soon. Malfoy will be insufferable."

"Don't worry about Malfoy," said Ron. Harry turned his neck. Ron was leaning against the office door. "He's a git—always was and always will be."

"Ron's right," said Hermione, feeding him another piece. "I don't think Professor Lupin was expecting that to happen. He was already moving to intervene—I don't think he meant for you to face the Boggart, Harry."

"Why," he asked her.

"Harry, I think it's obvious," she said with a sad smile. "I think everyone expected the Boggart to turn into You-Know-Who…can you imagine what sort of panic that would cause?"

"I thought it would too, to be honest," said Harry. "I wasn't expecting a Dementor. Where's Professor Lupin anyway?"

"Talking to the class," said Ron, nodding his head to the door behind him.

Harry rolled onto his side and sat up. He wobbled dangerously but Hermione caught him.

"Careful," she said, throwing one of his arms over her shoulder while she latched onto his torso. "Ron, help me, will you?" Ron walked over and took Harry's other arm over his shoulder.

"I heard it again, Hermione," he said.

"The woman," she asked worriedly.

"Yeah," he said. "She was calling my name."

"We'll talk to Professor Lupin about it, alright," she said, helping him to his feet.

"Harry?"

"Hmm?"

"I don't want to worry you, but, well, some of our classmates—" but Hermione didn't finish as her eyes swelled with tears.

"What is it, Hermione?"

"S-Some of them…w-we're..we're—"

" –laughing," finished Ron.

"It's fine," he said. Together they approached the office door that led down into the classroom when Lupin's voice carried through the walls.

 **() () ()**

"I can't begin to express my disappointment," said Lupin, looking over the whole class. "I'm appalled that there are students belonging to my old house who would laugh at the expense of one of their own and certainly not in a situation as severe as what happened minutes ago. Do any of you have any idea what a Dementor is, or even what they do? Well? Speak up—I'm waiting!" The class shifted guiltily in their chairs.

"Dementors are among the foulest creatures that exist in this world," he said, pacing. "They have several powers, each as deadly and horrid as the next. Their presence alone can chill the air to freezing in moments. In great numbers, if exposed long enough to their presence, they can still the blood long enough to starve the heart and brain of oxygen, putting a witch or wizard into cardiac arrest. Rare as it might be, wizards and witches alike have died this way. And that's the least of your worries."

"You see, Dementors prefer to feed upon their victims," he went on, his hands bawled tightly into fists. "Like Boggarts, they thrive on our fear. Unlike Boggarts, Dementors do not use fear to escape wizards or as a defensive mechanism; instead, they bring those fears forward, forcing us to relive our worst memories until every happy thought we've known seems forgotten. They feed upon it." The class looked up to the Professor in confusion.

"Let me tell you a story," said Lupin. "Once I had two friends—they were the kindest, most pure-hearted people I had ever known. They were Gryffindors, proud, brave, and intelligent. We fought together against Lord Voldemort during the last war," he said, ignoring their collective shiver, "and we were losing badly. Friends and family were disappearing and dying, or were in turn bewitched to torture and kill their loved ones. Many of you have families that suffered greatly under Lord Voldemort and his Death Eaters. My dear friends stood against him countless times and were soon targeted directly. They went into hiding." Lupin sat down on a stool at the front of the class as his voice dropped.

"They had a child…a sweet, innocent, baby boy," he said, no longer looking at the students but somewhere far beyond them. "They were safe, for a while. But it didn't last. Halloween night, nineteen-eighty-one, he found them, and he killed them." Lupin forced his gaze back to the students, some of them with understanding in their eyes, some more confused than before. Lupin swallowed.

"I'm talking of course, about Lily and James Potter," he said, using all his willpower to win over the burning sensation in his eyes and to ignore the collective gasp of the students. "And their son was just subjected to a creature fully capable of forcing those memories upon him."

In Lupin's office, Harry felt his legs turn to pudding as his body slumped forward under the weight of Lupin's words. Hermione and Ron kept him from completely falling, but momentum had been on Harry's side and they couldn't stop him from landing on his knees. Harry felt his heart constrict as Lupin's words played through his mind like a record player: _subjected to a creature fully capable of forcing those memories upon him_. And he knew then, the identity of the woman who had screamed his name. Before he could stop it, before he was even aware of the word forming in his brain, it slipped out from his lips, clearly audible in the quiet of the office.

"Mum."

 **Author's Notes:** I'm really enjoying the Dementor embellishments. I always felt they had a lot of offer in establishing a darker tone to the story. Hopefully you all agree.


	11. Lupin's Pain

**Chapter Eleven: Lupin's Pain**

Thoughts of Sirius Black's escape faded from memory with September's passing as most of the students were now too occupied with anticipation for Hogwart's favorite teacher; Professor Lupin. In the course of a few weeks, Defense Against the Dark Arts was the only conversed subject in the castle corridors and at meal times. Indeed, only the Slytherin's had anything negative to say about Professor Lupin, all of which centered on the professor's shabby appearance.

"Does Dumbledore even pay him," Malfoy asked his gang as Lupin left the Great Hall one morning. "Look at the state of his robes; mother would never allow me to look like that."

But Harry couldn't care less about the state of Lupin's robes. In one short month, they had covered Boggarts, Red Caps, and finally, Kappas. All of them had been fascinating dark creatures, each with very distinctive and dangerous powers if encountered by the unprepared. The quality of Lupin's teaching would have been sufficient alone to earn Harry's respect, but after his experience with the Boggart, Harry quickly discovered Professor Lupin was unlike any teacher he'd encountered previously.

"I'm afraid I must apologize, Harry," Professor Lupin had said once the classroom was vacated. He looked more tired than he had been on the train. "I hadn't intended on you facing the Boggart, not to mention the materialization of a Dementor. I'm sorry I wasn't able to react more quickly and spare you some undeserved embarrassment."

"It's alright," said Harry. His thoughts were still on his mother's voice.

"I'm sure you heard everything I explained to the class?" Harry nodded, eyes locked to the floor. He could feel Ron and Hermione's eyes behind him and couldn't bring himself to meet the professor's gaze.

"There is nothing to be ashamed for," said Lupin, softly. "I know you feel weak and powerless right now, but I trust you understand why Dementors have such an effect on you. There are few in this castle who have horrors in their past that would match your own." Harry knew Lupin had intended to encourage him, but the professor's words had only made him feel more isolated in his struggle. Then Harry felt Lupin grip his shoulder and kneel down so that Harry couldn't look away.

"Your mother and father were wonderful people, Harry," said Lupin with a small but sincere smile. "I knew them well at Hogwarts, particularly your dad. Even in the short time I have known you and from what other teachers have told me, I know both of them would be incredibly proud of you. James had a knack for getting into trouble, but he was always his own man. He never let other people define who he was and neither should you." Lupin offered a second smile and sent him on his way with Ron and Hermione following behind. Harry left Lupin's classroom that day happier than he'd been since blowing up his aunt Marge.

Divination on the other hand quickly became Harry's next least favorite class, preceded only by Potions. Professor Trelawney, kind and respectful as she was, appeared unable to help herself from growing teary-eyed every time he entered the stuffy classroom. Perhaps most frustrating of all, though, was how much of the class would cling to the end of their seats every time the old bat would interpret one of the lopsided shapes that always resembled some horrific fate, regardless of the medium. His tea leaves, as Professor Trelawney had pointed out for the third time, _would not be ignored_. It was the same with Palmistry; every wrinkle in his hand told of a different, equally horrific and tragic event ready to unfold at a moment's notice.

Hermione grew equally tiresome of Divination. Neither Harry nor Ron would have ever guessed Hermione could be so confrontational with a professor. Every occasion Trelawney took to interpret one of Harry's unfortunate impending dooms, Hermione would respond with clear objection, offering a completely different, opposing interpretation. Most of the class would roll their eyes at Hermione, but Harry offered her a grateful smile every time she came to his defense.

And yet classes were not the only thing on Harry's mind as October's lingering chill grew ever present; Quidditch season had arrived. Oliver Wood, Gryffindor's team captain, was more fanatical than Harry or the rest of the team had ever seen him. He had regaled them with various reasons why the cup should have been theirs over the past two years. Mostly, however, Wood had iterated his greatest desire; it was the last chance he'd have at bringing the cup to his house. Full of determination, the team, bolstered by Wood's fanatical ambition, began the most rigorous training regimen Harry had yet experienced; three evenings a week, often extending into early darkness and regardless of weather.

And finally there was the mystery that was Hermione's impossible schedule, thought admittedly, Ron was far more concerned than Harry.

"I'm telling you, Harry, Hermione's not telling us something," said Ron over breakfast one morning.

"You're not still going on about that are you, Ron?"

"Listen," he said as though Harry hadn't said a word, "earlier today I saw her chatting up Professor Vector, you know, the one who teaches Arithmancy?"

"Nothing strange about that," said Harry.

"Yeah, but they were discussing the morning's lesson," said Ron.

"And?"

"But she can't have been there, could she," said Ron with a flamboyant wave of his fork, sending a bit of scrambled egg across the table. "She was in Care of Magical Creatures with us! It's not possible, Harry. It's impossible."

"Like she said, she had her schedule worked out with McGonagall."

"Oh bloody hell, Harry, come on," said Ron as he stabbed his fork into more egg. "I talked to Ernie McMillan a little bit ago, and he says she's never missed a Muggle Studies class, but you know as well as I do that's not possible because half of them are at the same time as Divination! We both know she hasn't missed one of them either!"

"Look, I agree Hermione's schedule is a bit of a mystery," said Harry, pushing his emptied plate aside, "but if it was really for us to know, she'd have told us, wouldn't she?"

"Mate, she's gonna crack under it all," said Ron. "You've seen how tired she is and it's not even Christmas yet."

"Maybe," said Harry, keen not to continue the conversation anymore. "We'd best head to Potions." Harry had his own concerns about Hermione's workload but knew better than anyone that Hermione had set her mind to the impossible task and no one was going to dissuade her. Privately though, he made a mental note to at least check with her to see how she was holding up.

Snape's classroom was dimly lit as usual when they arrived. Snape didn't wait for the whole class to be seated before he began the day's lessons.

"Today, you will attempt to brew the Pepperup Potion," said Snape, his eyes gazing well beyond the class in front of him. "Most of you will fail despite the potion's simplicity because you will neglect the keep the temperature of your cauldron's contents within the acceptable range. Those that manage this simple procedure will then likely fail to properly prepare the Mandrake Root. I therefore warn each and every one of you to take extra caution with your Mandrake Root as you will only be provided a single root. Instructions," he added, tapping the black board at the front of the classroom, "are on the board. Begin."

Despite Potions being Harry's least favorite class, he had been sincere when he told Hermione he was going to do his best this year. He read through each instruction twice before he progressed to the next step in the brewing process. Thanking the Dursley's for the first time in his life, attaining the required temperature was easy. To his left, however, Ron struggled to keep his cauldron at the right temperature, which Snape took immediate notice.

"Weasley, do you listen to a single word I say in this class," he asked silkily. "Aside from Longbottom, you are the most talentless potion brewer in this class. Did I not specifically call your attention to the importance of the temperature before you were instructed to begin?"

"Yes, Professor," said Ron, wiping sweat from his brow as he attempted to prod the flames beneath his cauldron in hopes of raising the temperature.

"I shall be testing your potion at the end of class, Weasley," said Snape with a thin smile. "You should know that if brewed incorrectly, the usual side effects are tripled. It will be a most uncomfortable experience." Snape then turned to Harry's cauldron. He looked down upon the red cherry-syrup color of Harry's potion, his hooked nose hovering directly above. Harry mentally braced for the on-coming snide remarks but they never came. Snape moved down their table, looked into Hermione's cauldron briefly and returned to his desk. Hermione smiled at Harry who couldn't help but return the same.

However, the temporary exhilaration of finally managing a potion without Snape's snide comments was washed away by Malfoy.

"I got news from father this morning," he drawled to Crabbe and Nott. "Father has filed an official complaint with the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. I suspect it won't be long before the Ministry has that foul creature executed and that oaf removed from Hogwarts."

"Pity Buckbeak didn't actually remove a limb," muttered Ron.

"No, Hagrid's really fortunate Malfoy didn't suffer worse," whispered Hermione.

"Yeah, that would be the last thing Hagrid needs," agreed Harry.

"For those of you who have managed to follow the instructions, your Pepperup Potion should have had appropriate time to simmer," said Snape as the class period drew to an end. "The color should be cherry and have the liquidity similar to syrup. Please fill a vial for examination. Weasley, you need not submit anything as we shall be testing yours momentarily."

Ron's potion had turned out quite poorly.

"Foul git, he is," grunted Ron as they were now beyond ear shot of the dungeons, red faced and with a finger in one of his ears. "He could have mentioned I'd have pus instead of steam coming out my ears."

"He did say the usual side effects would be tripled," said Hermione sympathetically. "But it was a bit unfair, wasn't it?"

"A bit," exclaimed Ron as they reached Gryffindor Tower, "a bit? I'd like to see how you feel with pus coming out your ears, never mind the fact my throat is on fire."

"You need to work harder, Ron," said Hermione. "Look at Harry," she added, beaming with a radiant smile. "You've improved a lot over the last couple of weeks. I'm proud of you."

"Just trying to keep my head down and stay out of trouble," said Harry quickly. "Considering my trouble usually comes at the behest of Snape, I thought it good for my health to start doing better. Helps when he isn't hovering over my cauldron though," he added admittedly to Ron.

"Tell me about it," said Ron as they entered the Gryffindor Common Room. Harry and Hermione took the couch by the fire place and Ron took the roomiest cushioned chair and threw his legs over and arm rest and closed his eyes, popping several Freezing Pops into his mouth as he did so. Hermione reached into her bag and withdrew her Ancient Runes textbook and started to read.

"Hermione, how are you doing, really," asked Harry.

"What do you mean?"

"With all your classes," he said. "I know if anyone can handle the workload, you can, but still, it's a lot of work, even for you." She looked up from her book and gave Harry a small smile.

"It is a lot of work," she admitted after a moment, but her eyes danced with the same determination Harry had witnessed during their encounter with Buckbeak. "But I'm managing it well enough. I'm not getting quite as much sleep as I was last year but it's enough. Although…"

"What is it?"

"Well, I'm thinking of dropping Divination," she said quietly. "It's utter rubbish, Harry."

"I'm tempted to do the same," admitted Harry, looking over at Ron who let out a low snore. He had already fallen asleep. "I tire of hearing how miserable my death is going to be." Hermione gave him a sympathetic look.

"Professor McGonagall warned me about Divination," said Hermione. "I should have listened but I wanted to take every option available. Professor McGonagall wouldn't go as far as to call her a fraud but I could see it in her eyes. I'm starting to think the same. It would lighten the course load a bit too." Harry found his opening.

"Hermione," said Harry, taking a deep breath, "I know you don't really want to talk about your schedule, but I have to ask; how are you going to all your classes? We both know it's impossible for you to be in two places at once, and yet everyone that shares Arithmancy, Muggle Studies, and Ancient Runes with you claims you've never missed a single class. I know you've worked it out with Professor McGonagall and you probably aren't supposed to tell anyone how you're doing it, but I'm worried about you."

"Thank you, Harry," said Hermione as she held his hand briefly. "And you're right; I can't tell you what the arrangement is, but I trust you know it isn't because I don't trust you, or Ron. Professor McGonagall had to work very hard for this arrangement and I wouldn't be doing her any favors by breaking my promise to her."

"Okay," said Harry. "That's all I needed, Hermione. Just promise me you'll be honest with yourself and admit when it becomes too much."

"Of course I will," said Hermione. Then she smiled smugly. "But I'm not about to throw the towel in just yet. However, dropping Divination is still a very good possibility. I only have one reservation."

"What's that?"

"You."

"Me?"

"I couldn't leave you to that old hag," she admitted.

"You think I'm staying if you leave," he asked her incredulously.

"You'd leave with me?"

"Immediately," he affirmed.

"We'll, we shouldn't take too long to make a decision," she said. "And you need to think about what you'd take instead."

"What do you mean," asked Harry. "I would be perfectly happy with a free period."

"What about Ancient Runes," she asked him, showing him the text book. "I think you'd find it fascinating, you know. You're the best in Defense Against the Dark Arts and there are a lot of applications that Runes can have with fighting the Dark Arts."

"Hermione, have we been attending the same class? You're the one who gets the top marks."

"Perhaps, but you were brilliant with the Kappas, and the Red Caps," argued Hermione. "When it comes down to it, Harry, you excel in practical application."

"Agree to disagree," said Harry.

 **() () ()**

Several days later, Professor McGonagall addressed the Gryffindor third years at the end of Transfiguration to request their signed Hogsmeade permission forms.

"As you are all well aware, the first Hogsmeade visit will be on the day of Halloween, this Saturday," said Professor McGonagall as she observed the class over her square spectacles. "As your head of house, please turn in your signed permission forms prior to Halloween. Listen carefully as I will not repeat myself; no form, no visiting the village."

"Ask her now, mate," urged Ron as their fellow classmates lined up in front of McGonagall's desk. Harry glanced at his head of house and swallowed; he liked Professor McGonagall, even though she was very strict, and hated the idea of asking her to bend the rules for his sake. But Ron was having none of it.

"Look, she likes you, Harry," said Ron persistently. "She bent the rules to see you play Seeker as a first year and she's likely to do it again if you just explain to her how lousy those Muggles are."

"I don't think so, Ron," said Hermione. "The circumstances this time around are quite different than out on the Quidditch pitch. There wasn't a loose killer on the prowl."

"That's not exactly true," said Harry, unable to help himself. "Voldemort was roaming the castle, though no one knew."

"You've got nothing to lose," said Ron with a final plea.

"Alright, fine," said Harry, getting at the back of the line behind Ron and Hermione. Several agonizing minutes slipped past when Harry finally reached the professor's desk.

"Mr. Potter," greeted the professor as she adjusted her spectacles. "Your form, please."

"I—I haven't got it, Professor," said Harry.

"You were paying attention when I spoke to the class earlier, were you not Potter?"

"I was Professor," said Harry quickly, "but I think my situation is a bit different."

"Oh?"

"Well, my aunt and uncle…they're Muggles you see…and they um...don't like magic…"

"Go on."

"They didn't sign it Professor," said Harry, deciding it best to be forthcoming. "Actually, they refused to sign it."

"I'm afraid the rules are clear, Potter," said McGonagall.

"But you could allow it," he said, unable to stop himself.

"Even if I could, I wouldn't, Potter," said the professor, her gaze softening to pity, "I am neither your parent nor your guardian. I'm sorry, Potter, but no form, no visiting the village. That's the rule."

"I understand, Professor," said Harry, doing his best not to show his disappointment. He caught Ron's indignant sneer at McGonagall and likewise saw Hermione's torn expression.

 **() () ()**

"I'm not going," said Hermione on Halloween morning as she walked down the stairs from the girl's dormitory. Ron stared at her with an open mouth.

"Are you bloody mental," asked Ron. "Since the train ride you've done nothing but go on and on about the bloody Goblin Rebellion and wanting to see a dusty old inn and now you don't want to go?" Hermione ignored Ron and looked to Harry instead.

"If you can't go, then I won't either," she said. "I've been none-the-wiser for the last two years, what's another?"

"Hermione," said Harry, fighting the lump in his throat, "I appreciate what you're trying to do but you shouldn't miss out on the village on my behalf."

"But it isn't fair," she protested.

"Look, you're right, it isn't," he said, placing a hand on her shoulder, "but I decided at the start of the year I was going to keep my head down and focus on school."

"But—" Hermione started to say, but Harry cut her off.

"If Sirius Black was looking for the right opportunity to do me in, Hogsmeade would be the perfect moment, wouldn't it? As much as I hate to admit it, I'm better off in the castle and so is everyone else. He killed lots of innocent Muggles to get at Pettigrew, remember? What's to stop him from killing kids?" He knew he wasn't being entirely truthful with her; of course he wanted nothing more than to go visit the village. But he couldn't let her miss out because of him.

"All the more reason I should stay," she said. Again her eyes flashed with steeled determination.

"I don't want to be the reason you don't go," he said to her, appealing one last time. "I wouldn't feel good about it." And he knew he'd won the argument then. He hated pulling the guilt card on Hermione, but he truly wanted her to get out of the castle and out from beneath the mountain of homework that would still be waiting for her when she returned that evening.

"Fine," she said finally. "But if Black hasn't been captured by the next scheduled Hogsmeade visit, I'm staying here with you. No arguments." Harry smiled and nodded his agreement and they left the common room for the Great Hall.

"We'll bring you loads of sweets back," said Ron before he stuffed the last biscuit into his mouth.

"And I'll tell you about everything I see," said Hermione. "In detail, so you'd best be ready to listen when I get back. If you can't go, you're going to feel like you did when I've finished."

"I'll take that under advisement," he said while he escorted them to the large oak doors leading to the castle courtyard and beyond. Ron waved and walked ahead, leaving a still conflicted Hermione behind him.

"Go on," he assured her. "I'll be fine. Have a good time." And before he could say anything further, Hermione had flung her arms around him in a hug so tight Harry was certain his blood circulation had been completely cut off from his arms. She let him go shortly after, gave him one last disappointed look and followed after Ron leaving Harry standing alone in the foyer of the Great Hall.

"Alright, Harry?" Harry turned on his heels to see Professor Lupin standing behind him, looking a bit paler than usual but sporting his usual full smile.

"Yeah, just seeing Ron and Hermione off is all," he said, again trying to mask the longing in his voice.

"Ah," said Lupin as he gave Harry a quick full look. "I missed my first Hogsmeade visit too," he said after a moment. "I'd be remiss though to neglect mentioning I was at the time serving a detention with Professor McGonagall." Harry wasn't sure how to respond to Lupin's forthright explanation and was spared doing so when Lupin invited him to see a Grindylow the professor had just received.

"What's a Grindylow," asked Harry as they walked along the corridor.

"Water demon," said Lupin simply. "Shouldn't be too much hassle, I hope—not after Kappas—but they can be very dangerous. As I've said before, any creature is dangerous to an unprepared witch or wizard."

"Hagrid has said something to that effect," admitted Harry.

"I'm sure he has," said Lupin with a chuckle. "And he would know better than most, I think."

Once inside Lupin's classroom, Harry saw the large glass tank sitting on the desk with an incredibly hideous, sick-green looking creature with long arms, spindly fingers, and many tentacles. More disturbing was the agonizing expression on the Grindylow's face which exposed its tiny sharp teeth.

"See the long fingers," he asked, pointing at one of the Grindylow's hands. "You never want to find yourself in their grip," he explained. "They're incredibly strong, especially the female adults. This one is a male and in his youth, but even then, the strength of his grip is probably twice that of yours. Adults are around four to five times that."

"So if you fancied holding hands with one…" Lupin raised an eyebrow.

"Several bones would break, I'd wager," he said seriously. "But there is a trick to break their grip should you ever find yourself compromised in such a fashion. They're fragile creatures, Grindylow's. You've got to break their grip is all. Sometimes easier said than done, but we'll go over that in class. Cup of tea?"

"Sure."

"Here, take a seat," said Lupin, pulling a chair over to his desk. Lupin waved his wand and levitated the Grinylow tank to the corner of the room, gave a second wave and a steaming teapot appeared on the desk with two chipped mugs.

"I'm afraid I'm all out tea leaves, but I daresay you won't be too disappointed," he added with a soft smile.

"How'd you know about that," he asked.

"Professor McGonagall told me," said Lupin. "I'll have you know if you didn't know already, there have been very few confirmed, legitimate seers in wizard history, Harry, and though I would not readily dismiss Professor Trelawney, I wouldn't wager the Goblins for her authenticity either."

"Hermione would agree with you," said Harry.

"I suppose she would," said Lupin, sipping his tea.

"Professor, I've been meaning to ask you…"

"Yes?"

"How well did you know my parents?"

"I was mostly close to your dad, James," said Lupin after another long sip. "In fact, he and I were serving detention together on the day of the afore mentioned Hogsmeade visit. So, if it makes you feel a little better, know that James didn't make his debut to Hogsmeade the first time either."

"But," Lupin went on, "to answer your question, I was friends with your dad since our first year, causing far too much chaos and mayhem until the day we graduated. After school we were virtually thrown into the war against Voldemort. We fought together in countless battles. One moment it feels as though it were only yesterday, the next, like an eternity has passed since I last heard him laugh." And then Lupin's face turned incredible sad. His eyes dimed and a frown creased his pale skin.

"I'm sorry," said Harry immediately. "I didn't—you must hate remembering it all."

Lupin waved a hand and his temporary sadness was gone almost at once.

"Don't apologize," he said. "On the contrary, I'm glad you asked. Too often we try to cast aside memories of our loved ones who are no longer with us, hoping to spare ourselves of grief, only to cause the grief we hoped to avoid. You made me think of very happy times, Harry."

Harry let silence fall between them.

"Professor," Harry asked, gathering his courage and hating himself at the same time.

"Yes?"

"Does that mean you knew Sirius Black as well?" No sooner had Harry asked the question that he wished he hadn't. Lupin's eyes darkened considerably and what color Lupin's pale face was sapped away instantly. He looked like an old man with incredible anguish.

"I'm sorry," said Harry instantly. He set his cup down and started to excuse himself from the desk but Lupin reached forward and grabbed his wrist.

"No, it's alright," he said, looking Harry directly in his eyes. "You have nothing to apologize for—none of this is your fault and it never will be—you're curious and have every right to know." Lupin swallowed and returned to his seat.

"Yes," said Lupin, his words slow and deliberate, "I knew Sirius Black. We were like brothers, the four us; James, Sirius, Peter, and myself. I know what you're asking and I've asked myself the same question for more than a decade, Harry. You want to know if we ever suspected, if he ever gave any sign he had turned…but there wasn't anything to see, Harry. We all laughed together, dined together, pranked our classmates unendingly, and fought together. I watched Sirius put himself in harm's way for me, James, and Peter, countless times. I try to hold on to the Sirius Black I knew, not the one that betrayed your parents. I hold on to selfish hope that it wasn't until the very end he turned, that every time he jumped in front of me or your dad was the same Sirius Black that slept in our dormitory as kids. I'll never know the truth, Harry, because even if I could ask him, I wouldn't know if I could trust him. If there was a monster inside, Harry, it was there buried deep beneath the surface."

And in that moment, Harry learned a grown man could shed tears. Lupin didn't cry outright, nor did he let out any anguished cry, but he let a few tears escape his weary eyes. Harry opened his mouth to speak when there came a knock on the door.

"Come in," said Lupin, quickly wiping his eyes on his robe sleeve. The door creaked open and the last person Harry expected walked in; Hermione.


	12. Cat and Mouse

**Author Note:** We're back at it! Thanks as always for those who have been immensely patient with the slow updates. There's a lot going on in this update. Among many other things, I hope you enjoy my introduction into Ancient Runes, which I hope to really develop in this story in a meaningful way. Without further ado, the next installment.

 **Chapter Twelve: Cat and Mouse**

"Hermione," said Harry, his eyes widened in surprise. Hermione closed the door behind her and walked toward them as she held her hands nervously. "I thought you'd gone to Hogsmeade with Ron?"

"Look, Harry, I tried—honestly—I did," she said looking at the floor, "I didn't make it past the gate; it didn't feel right leaving you alone in the castle."

"Hermione…"

"Harry, it's done, I'm not going," she said, looking up from the floor and meeting his gaze.

"I take it Ron went on to the village?"

"Naturally," she said scrunching her eyes in brief revulsion. "I imagine he's in Honeydukes, jaw dragging on the floor as he salivates over the candy choices."

"Tea, Hermione," asked Lupin after a short laugh.

"Please," she said. Lupin quickly fetched an empty chair and offered her a cup of tea.

"Thank you, Professor," said Hermione taking a sip almost immediately.

"You have a good friend, Harry," said Lupin as he returned to his seat on the other side of the desk. "I didn't ask earlier, but as you're not serving detention, I assume you don't have a signed form?"

"No," answered Harry quietly. "My relatives hate anything to do with magic; whether it affects them or not is irrelevant."

"I'm sorry to hear that," said Lupin, grimacing slightly as he took another sip of his tea. "You live with Lily's sister and her husband, am I right?"

Harry nodded.

"We never met," said Lupin. "Lily invited them to the wedding of course, but they never showed."

"I'm not surprised," said Harry. He turned to Hermione.

"How'd you know where I was?"

"I didn't," admitted Hermione. "I actually came looking for Professor Lupin for another reason before I set off to look for you."

"Oh," said Lupin. "What did you need?"

"It can wait," she said simply. Then her face softened. "I heard what you last said before I knocked…I'm sorry."

"It's quite alright," said Lupin with a sad but earnest smile.

"It must be terribly difficult to talk about," she said. Lupin gave a deep sigh and drained the last of his teacup and poured another.

"Remembering the good times is far from painful," said Lupin. He closed his eyes and took a long sip before letting out a long breath. "We all missed our Hogsmeade debut because James and Sirius thought it would be quite funny to charm the staff room door to shout insults at every teacher." Lupin chuckled at the memory.

"That's terrible," said Hermione, horrified.

"I dare not recount it," said Lupin with a wink to Harry. "Needless to say, Peter was our lookout while I created a distraction on the corridor a floor above to draw all the teachers away."

"But you got caught," said Hermione.

"Professor McGonagall, sadly, knew straight away," said Lupin. "You see, our pranks had grown to possess a particular flavor by our third year. After two weeks of detention, we began to rethink our pranks."

"So all of you really were quite close," said Harry.

"We were," said Lupin. "James and Sirius were practically brothers when they met on the train our first year. Both of them were filled with self-confidence to the very brim. Some would say an unhealthy amount. I found it infectious. James was undeniably Gryffindor from the onset; nothing short of Gryffindor was worthy of him, he had said. Sirius, on the other hand, came from a family with deep Slytherin roots and a well-publicized fascination with the dark arts. He loathed the pureblood mania of his family and their love of dark magic; disavowed it on several occasions—loudly, I might add. He was determined to break the tradition. I remember Sirius looking at James with his thin-lipped smirk as he planned his first prank. He was dead set on being sorted into Gryffindor if for no other reason other than to earn the scorn of his mother, Walburga."

"Then why would he join up with You-Know-Who," asked Hermione. "If Sirius hated the pureblood mantra so deeply, why did he turn?"

"I don't know," said Lupin, his eyes dimming considerably. "Even now I still try to find the defining moment where he turned or try to imagine what Voldemort could have promised Sirius to make him betray his best friend. I don't know, Hermione."

Silence fell heavy over the classroom as all three took a sip of their tea. Lupin, however, did not allow the silence to linger.

"Peter was not so unlike your classmate, Neville, at least in mannerisms. Timid, quiet, shy—would rarely speak in class—a real loner, when we first met. But he idolized James and Sirius. I don't know if it was pity that motivated the two of them to look after Peter, but that's what they did. Eventually we all grew quite close. I myself was quite a loner when I arrived at Hogwarts. I had few friends, but James, Sirius, and Peter were all I needed."

"What about mum?"

"Lily was bright," said Lupin with a full smile. "Best in our year, academically, and of course, being Muggleborn, she was constantly in struggle with those that favored the imaginary exclusive rights of purebloods. Many who belittled and bullied Lily went on to be Death Eaters and supporters of Voldemort. She was an accomplished potion brewer, but her real talent was in Charms. She outscored everyone in her O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s, except for the Transfiguration practical, where James narrowly outperformed her. Although, if I'm honest, I think Sirius could have outscored us all in Defense Against the Dark Arts but he simply couldn't be bothered."

"Sirius was an Auror, though, wasn't he," asked Hermione.

"As I said," Lupin continued, "Sirius could have easily outscored us but his head was always in the clouds."

"What is an Auror," asked Harry.

"They are combat wizards, or witches, trained to investigate, fight, and capture those that practice the Dark Arts," said Lupin. "It takes a great deal of discipline to become one; it takes even greater skill to reach an old age. They typically have a solid understanding of Transfiguration, Charms, and Potions. However, most crucially, they possess outstanding knowledge of the Dark Arts and how to fight them. It's more than head knowledge, fighting the Dark Arts; it's about maintaining a cool head under the threat of death, the ability to make split-second decisions under severe stress, and no shortage of nerve."

"It doesn't make any sense," said Harry. "To spend your life attaining the skills to fight dark magic—to break away from a family that supports the very thing you hate—only to turn so completely…"

"I know," said Lupin.

"I met him, you know," said Harry slowly. Lupin, his cup held to his lips for another drink, held steady.

"That's what Dumbledore told me," he said, his eyes focused intently upon Harry.

"I still don't understand it, Professor," said Harry, "he had his wand drawn on me—should have killed me without any hesitation, based on what I know and have read about Peter's death—but he didn't. He told me to watch my back. And he looked…sad…that I didn't know who he was."

"Harry," said Lupin, his voice somber and serious, "I want you to remember that Sirius has spent the last twelve years in Azkaban. You have experienced the power of a single Dementor and can appreciate the effects they can have on a wizard. Sirius was under their influence for twelve years and far more than a single Dementor. Most go mad in Azkaban, Harry; it's very likely that Sirius has too. It's possible—and I think likely—that he hesitated only because his mind is so jumbled and twisted that at least part of him remembered his best friend. Remembered the days before his heart turned cold. He is a killer, Harry, and though I doubt highly you will run across him again, I cannot stress to you enough how dangerous he is."

"I…I know that," said Harry. "It's just…the way he said it…I feel like there's something I'm missing. Why does it feel so personal?" Hermione reached over and placed a hand over his wrist.

"It is," said Lupin, his voice deflating. "He betrayed your parents and robbed both you and them of a family. There's nothing more personal than—"

A knock at the door interrupted Lupin.

"Come in," he said. The door opened and Snape walked in, both hands clasped tightly over a smoke goblet.

"Ah, Severus, excellent," said Lupin, greeting the potion's master with a sincere smile. "If you'd set it upon the desk…" Snape strolled across the classroom, his robes billowing at his feet. He set the plain silver goblet upon the desk.

"You'll want to drink that straight away, Lupin," said Snape, his eyes glued to the goblet.

"Yes, yes, I shall," said Lupin. "I was just entertaining Harry and Hermione—thought they would appreciate a first glimpse of the Grindylow."

"Fascinating," said Snape, though his eyes did not leave the goblet. "I've prepared an entire cauldron, should you need more…"

"I would appreciate another dose before super time, thank you," he said.

"Very well," said Snape. "I wonder, Lupin, if you would have time to have a few words…in private?"

"Certainly," he said, giving Harry and Hermione a quick look. "I daresay you both would rather enjoy your free afternoon anyway." Harry and Hermione realized they were being dismissed, so they quickly thanked Lupin for the tea, gave Snape a silent nod and left the classroom.

"I couldn't help but overhear you reliving your glory days, Lupin," said Severus.

"I suppose you could call it that," said Lupin, taking a sip from the goblet. His face crinkled in disgust. "I see you haven't lost your habit of listening at closed doors."

"Perhaps a silencing charm would not go amiss," said Severus, his lips curling into a smirk. "You know it really isn't safe confining yourself into a closed room with two helpless teenagers considering your…affliction."

"I've nothing to hide, Severus, but I'll take your caution under advisement," said Lupin, raising his eyebrows slightly as he took yet another sip from the smoking goblet. "Pity sugar makes this marvelous concoction useless. None-the-less, I appreciate you brewing it, Severus."

"I'm watching you, Lupin," said Snape, no longer patient with the verbal joust.

"That is very evident, Severus," said Lupin with a small smile. "But you waste your time. I've no interest in helping Sirius in any way, shape, or form."

"I don't believe it."

"Well then let us both be grateful it is not you I am accountable to."

"Careful, Lupin," said Snape as he turned on his heels, his back facing Lupin, "Or you might find I've accidentally slipped something into your morning pumpkin juice."

"Noted," he said, smirking at the potion master's back. "I hope you'll consider my palate when you choose the poison."

"Unlikely," replied Snape as he closed the door behind him. Lupin stared at the door, his eyebrows raised as he considered the potion master.

"I'm loathed to admit it, but Sirius was right; you are a greasy haired git."

 **() () ()**

"I just feel it's unfair that you're missing out on Hogsmeade on my account," said Harry as they walked down the corridor from Lupin's classroom.

"I'll see it soon enough, Harry," she said. "You're more important than an old inn."

"What about Hogwarts, a History?"

"Don't push it," she said, smiling this time. They descended the marble staircase and found the Great Hall nearly empty. Each house table was occupied by a small spat of first and second year students. However, nearly every teacher was seated at the staff table with the exceptions of Trelawney, Lupin, and Snape.

"Hermione, what do you reckon Snape is making for Professor Lupin," asked Harry, finding a large empty section of the Gryffindor house table.

"I don't know," said Hermione, sitting across from him. "I didn't get a good look at it to even being guessing."

"You don't think—"

"No, Harry," interrupted Hermione, "I know what you're thinking, but Professor Snape wouldn't try to poison Professor Lupin, especially with students present. I know you don't like him, but it was very clear that Professor Lupin expected whatever it is that Professor Snape brought him."

"I suppose you're right. Still, have you noticed how much Snape doesn't appear to like Professor Lupin?"

"Yes, he does appear to be quite a bit more vindictive towards him than he was with either Quirrell or Lockhart."

"And he really wants the defense job, doesn't he?"

"But to kill someone for it?"

"It is Snape we're talking about."

"Harry, he's a professor," said Hermione, pouring herself a glass of pumpkin juice. "He's not particularly enjoyable to learn from but that doesn't make him a murderer."

"Fine, fine," said Harry, letting it drop. He grabbed a ham sandwich from the platter while Hermione helped herself to a muffin.

"Have you thought anymore about Divination," asked Hermione.

"I have," said Harry. "I'll go when you do."

"I was thinking of going straight to professor McGonagall after the feast," said Hermione. "Avoid the old bat if possible."

"Sounds good."

"And have you decided what class you'll replace it with?"

"What's the difference between Ancient Runes and Arithmancy?"

"Arithmancy is sort of like Divination," began Hermione. "An Arithmancer tries to predict future events by studying the magical properties within numerology. It's very methodical and objective, though, unlike tea leaves and palmistry."

"So you study numbers?"

"Not exclusively," said Hermione patiently. "An Arithmancer applies the discipline of numerology to current events while taking into consideration the magical properties of the numbers that are found to correlate with said event. While Divination attempts to discern future events through abstract mediums and rarely considers current events into interpretations, the discipline of Arithmancy never excludes current events. Additionally, an Arithmancer will always offer more than one interpretation because Arithmancy takes into account that the future is always being shaped by events happening in the present. It's also common practice to look back to past events when establishing potentially influencing numerological patterns."

"That sounds a bit intimidating," admitted Harry.

"It can be," said Hermione, "but it is fascinating and I would help you catch up if you wanted to take it."

"Alright," nodded Harry, "and what about Ancient Runes?"

"Personally, I think you'll prefer it over Arithmancy," said Hermione. "Ancient Runes is very heavy on reading, so be prepared for an immense workload. Essentially, you would be studying runic scripture, which early practitioners of magic—namely, the Druids of early Britain—used to record their spell work long before language existed as we know it today. Yuri Blishen suggests we know so little of runic magic that sixty to seventy percent of their known magic still eludes us today. Professor Babbling thinks it could be higher."

"You said before there was an application to Defense Against the Dark Arts," said Harry.

"There is," said Hermione, smiling broadly now. "While third year study is really heavy in learning to translate and recognize known runes correctly, the magical application of runic magic is that the symbol acts as a catalyst for the spell. Early practitioners didn't use wands for magic. Runes can be triggered or activated without any incantation once they are properly performed. This makes runic magic ideal for protective wards, traps, and have on occasion been known to be imbedded into unsuspecting objects."

"It does sound more appealing than Arithmancy," acknowledged Harry. "Do you think I'd be able to catch up? We're a month in…"

"Of course you can," said Hermione. "You'll have to work a bit harder, but the sooner we get out of Divination, the less you'll have to catch up on."

"Alright, I'll do it," said Harry. "I'll take Runes."

"Really?" she asked.

"Yeah," said Harry, feeling relief at the prospect of never climbing the north tower again. Hermione beamed at him. Harry could tell she was genuinely happy.

"In fact," said Harry, "why don't we go find McGonagall now before the feast tonight?"

"What do we tell Ron?"

"If he wants to leave Divination, nothing is stopping him from doing so," said Harry.

"True, but you don't think he'll be a bit miffed if we drop without telling him before hand?"

"We can tell him tonight at the feast," said Harry. "He won't have to find out by going to class without us."

"Alright."

They finished their lunch quickly and walked up to the staff table. McGonagall was deep in conversation with Dumbledore over the latest article in Transfiguration Weekly.

"I don't understand this sudden fascination with multi-step Transfiguration," said McGonagall.

"It is less efficient, but to a more novice wizard or witch, the process is not entirely irrelevant," said Dumbledore as he stroked his beard. "Those who struggle with Transfiguration may find the task far more accomplishable. I fear however, the author is mistaken to suggest such a process on living creatures. I cannot imagine the undue hardship a creature would endure when a single limb is transfigured into an inanimate object."

The professors were so engrossed in their discussion they did not notice Harry and Hermione standing in front of them, waiting patiently for the conversation to end.

"But what purpose does multi-step Transfiguration really accomplish," asked McGonagall. "There is a reason we teach gradual Transfiguration; we start small, with very simple objects, progressing into larger, more complex transformations. It's more than making something look like something else. You're changing the very nature and structure of the object or being. Adding several steps will increase the likelihood of mistakes, which could be costly; Animagus transformations in particular."

Dumbledore nodded. "Few will ever attempt to acquire such a skill, however, your argument is valid. I fear the author in his attempt to simplify the skills necessary for complex Transfigurations—essentially utilizing the _switching_ principle—has inadvertently set practitioners on a path of stunted growth and false proficiency."

"Excuse me, Professors, but might we have a word with you, Professor McGonagall," asked Harry. He looked sideways at Hermione who, he could tell, did not want to interrupt.

"Harry, Miss. Granger," said Dumbledore with an apologetic nod, "so sorry, it appears we did not take notice of your approach."

"It's quite alright, Professor," said Hermione, "I was actually enjoying the discussion."

"Yes, I imagine you were," acknowledged the headmaster. "Minerva, we can continue discussing this later," he added, pointing to the article. "I have a few ideas of my own that I hope you might entertain. It is an intriguing proposition despite the very apparent flaws. However, I fear I may need to draft a cautionary essay on the subject. This author will lead many to undue hardship."

"Very well," said McGonagall. Dumbledore excused himself from the table and vacated his chair. However, a few steps away, he turned abruptly, his loose ivory and violet robes twirling almost dress-like about him as he strolled back along the staff table and spoke to Hermione.

"Miss. Granger, I hope you forgive me, I had intended to speak with you earlier yesterday when I was called away by Ministry matters, but I have spoken to the school governors regarding the mutual request you and Harry had of me at the beginning of term."

"What did they say," she asked as her face turned pale at the news.

"After a great deal of discussion and reminding several members of the board of the actual purpose of the Statute of Secrecy, we came to agreement that parents of Muggleborn students should be allowed to attend school-sponsored sporting events." Hermione latched onto Harry and nearly knocked him off his feet.

"Harry, you were right," she said happily. "Mum and dad will be so happy to finally see the castle." She released her death grip around Harry and beamed at Dumbledore. "Thank you, Professor Dumbledore. You have no idea what this means to me."

"I think I have some idea," said Dumbledore as his brilliant blue eyes twinkled. "I should note that I may have also indicated it was a request from our top third-year student who possesses an excellent memory." Harry and Hermione laughed.

"I have arranged matters so that your parents will be able to watch the first game of the Quidditch season, which I believe is between Gryffindor and Slytherin house," continued Dumbledore.

"How will they get here, Professor," asked Harry.

"Ah, well that was a bit trickier than convincing the board if I am to be honest," said Dumbledore. "While it was agreed they could attend, they are not allowed by Ministry regulations to enter the platform at King's Cross, nor are they permitted access to a wizarding establishment or home by Apparition, Portkey, or the Floo Network."

"Which means even though they are allowed, they can't…" said Hermione slowly, her eyes falling to the floor.

"Miss. Granger, you need not worry," said Dumbledore with a smile. "They may not be allowed transport by those methods into a wizarding establishment or home, but nothing prevents them from Portkeying to a non-wizarding establishment, for example," he added, his eyes twinkling once more, "outside Hogsmeade village limits." Hermione recovered almost instantly as she once more broke out into a toothy grin.

"Thank you very much, Professor," said Hermione again. "One last question, if I may? Two actually…"

"Proceed."

"Who will be collecting them, and I don't suppose it's possible they could stay a night in the castle?" Again, Dumbledore smiled.

"I shall be collecting them, if it is agreeable to you and them," said Dumbledore. "And I am sure we can arrange lodging for the night. I shall draft a letter to them and I am sure you will do likewise. However, on that account, a cautionary point, if I may?" Hermione nodded.

"There are several who will not take lightly to this perceived slight against magical tradition," said Dumbledore, his tone noticeably darker. "I and the staff will be diligent to discourage any outward transgressions, but be prepared none-the-less. You carry yourself well, Miss. Granger; do not let anyone stifle your spirit."

"Thank you, sir," said Hermione.

"Very well, I'll leave you to Professor McGonagall." And without further word, Dumbledore waltz from the Great Hall.

"I'm quite surprised to see you here in the castle, Miss. Granger," said McGonagall as she peered over her spectacles. "Was Hogsmeade not to your liking?"

"Oh, no, Professor," said Hermione quickly, "it's just, well, since Harry couldn't go, I…it didn't feel right to leave him alone."

"Twenty points to Gryffindor, Miss. Granger," said McGonagall proudly. "Now, what is it you two need to see me about?"

"We wish to drop Divination," said Hermione as her cheeks flushed with light pink.

"I wondered when you would come to your senses," said McGonagall. "I was not expecting the same from you, however, Mr. Potter. Though I suspect you tire of hearing the many horrific events that is supposedly befalling you in the near future?"

"It does get a little old," admitted Harry.

"Very well, I shall process your request when I return to my office this afternoon," said McGonagall. "Now, is there anything else I may assist either of you with?"

"Yes, Professor, there is," said Hermione. "Harry would like to take Ancient Runes in place of Divination." Professor McGonagall surveyed Harry for what seemed a very long time.

"Is this true, Potter?"

"Yes, Professor," said Harry. "Hermione thinks I'll enjoy the class since it has some application with Defense Against the Dark Arts and I really do want to do better."

"I'm very pleased to hear this, Mr. Potter," said McGonagall. "You are aware you'll be a month behind? You'll have a great deal of work to catch up on."

"I know, Professor," said Harry. "Hermione said she'd help me catch up."

"I'm curious, but why the sudden change this year, Potter?"

"Well, I suppose the last two years have made me really think about what I'm doing here," he said, not really thinking about the words he was saying. "And Professor Lupin has been telling me about my parents and I can't help but think they would expect more from me." McGonagall again considered the young boy before her. James and Lily would certainly expect more from him academically, but the way he had said it made her pause.

"I can tell you likewise, Potter, that both your parents would be immensely proud of your decision," said McGonagall, "but do not think for one moment they would have been disappointed in who you are today." Harry felt his spirit lift at McGonagall's words.

"Very well, if you are sure you can handle it, Potter, I will speak with Professor Babbling after our meeting is concluded here. I'm sure she will be delighted to have you join the class. Now, if this is all, I would like to finish my lunch."

"Of course, Professor," said Hermione, "thank you."

 **() () ()**

"What do you mean you're dropping Divination," moaned Ron as he slumped down onto the couch in Gryffindor Tower. "You both are leaving me to fend for myself?"

"You can leave with us," said Hermione as she curled into a nearby chair with her Ancient Runes textbook. "You could take Ancient Runes as well with Harry," she suggested as an afterthought.

"You mean the class where you look at dusty old tomes and parchment with nothing but scribbled shapes? Not bloody likely."

"Well you could always take the free period," said Harry.

"Hey, that's not a bad idea," said Ron, thoughtfully. He reached into his robe pocket and withdrew Scabbers and set him upon his lap. "Come to think of it, why didn't you do that, Harry?"

"I thought about it," admitted Harry, "but after talking with Professor Lupin about my parents, I think I owe it to them to apply myself a bit more. Hermione reckons I'll find Ancient Runes interesting and with everything that has happened over the last two years, and now Sirius Black…I need to do more than I have been."

"Mental," said Ron, shaking his head. Harry shrugged and leaned over the back of Hermione's chair, looking over her shoulder at the textbook.

"You know, Harry, if you wanted, we can sit at the table and I can show you some of the runes I've learned, rather than look over my shoulder," said Hermione, looking up at him.

"I suppose it wouldn't—"

"GET OFF," yelled Ron. Harry and Hermione turned as Ron leapt from the couch, both hands gripped firmly over a frantic Scabbers. Ron had several scratches on one of his hands. Crookshanks stood on the back of the couch, hind legs ready to propel him towards Ron. "You stupid animal, leave Scabbers alone!" However, Crookshanks leapt into the air once more. Ron ducked and rolled and shoved Scabbers back into his robe pocket. Crookshanks landed on the floor with little effort and hissed at Ron. Hermione rushed to her feline pet and grabbed him around the middle as Ron drew his wand and pointed it at the cat.

"Keep that animal away from Scabbers," said Ron furiously. "He's ill as it is and doesn't need the fear of being eaten hanging over him."

"Crookshanks doesn't know any better," said Hermione. "All cats chase rats, Ron!"

"That cat has it in for Scabbers!"

"Crookshanks has it in for all rats, Ron!"

"Scabbers was here first," shouted Ron. He shot another glare at Crookshanks marched up to the dormitory stairs leaving Harry and Hermione alone in the common room. Hermione scratched Crookshanks behind the ear.

"It's alright, Crooks," said Hermione. "He doesn't understand you're a cat."


	13. A Hogwarts Sleepover

**Chapter Thirteen: A Hogwarts Sleepover**

Ron remained very upset with Hermione and her feline familiar. He was so incensed by Crookshanks' persistent pursuit of Scabbers that he remained holed up in their dormitory the rest of the evening and would likely have stayed there had he the resolve to resist the lure of the Halloween feast. Hermione—once Crookshanks had been tended to—plopped onto the couch next to Harry, nearly shoulder-to-shoulder, legs curled and tucked into the plush cushion and promptly opened her Ancient Runes textbook.

"Would you like to assist me with my assignment, Harry?"

"By help you, you mean sit and watch you figure it out," said Harry with a smirk.

"No, I mean exactly what I said."

"Um, Hermione, I know nothing about runes."

"I'll help you," she said, placing the book between them. Over the next hour, Hermione tutored Harry over the four basic runes they had deciphered in class: fire, (represented by a simple equilateral triangle with an upward orientation), water, (the same, only with a downward orientation), earth, (the same as water but with a line forming a second triangle near the point), and finally, air, (the same as earth, but again with an upward orientation like fire).

"So they used shapes to represent whole words, or ideas?"

"They get more complex," said Hermione. "Runes eventually progressed to represent sounds, and eventually, letters similar to what we know today. The progression of rune complexity can be traced parallel to the development of complex languages, such as English."

"So what is your assignment?"

"Deciphering a compound rune," said Hermione, pulling a piece of parchment from her bag. She had drawn a crude shape. Unlike the previous four runes Hermione had shown him, this rune was two equally sized equilateral triangles, one oriented upward, the other downward, conjoined by a shard side, forming what Harry recognized as a parallelogram from primary school.

"A compound rune?"

" _A compound rune takes two or more singular runes to convey a more complex idea_ ," said Hermione, reading from her textbook. " _Often, compound runes will illustrate particular steps in a process, or, illustrate a more complex element where a rune may not exist to represent it_."

"So, what do you think," asked Hermione.

"Well, it sort of looks like fire and water were joined together," said Harry.

"That was my thought as well," said Hermione.

"You don't think that's too simple?"

"Harry, these are very early runes," she said thoughtfully, "simplicity would have been essential."

"So what are they trying to say?"

"I'm not sure," said Hermione. "Fire and water…" she said, softly, several time over. "Water can extinguish a flame, but—"

"—wouldn't water be first in the sequence," asked Harry.

"Yes, I think you're right," said Hermione, "although order might not be important in this case. It does it they are attempting to show a process, but not if they are trying to communicate something more complex than either fire or water…" Hermione took a bit of parchment, sprawled in across the bottom portion of the text book and drew a simple chart.

"I think we're both confident the rune isn't telling us to put out fire with water," she said, jotting down the possibility into one of the boxes and then marking an "x" next to it. "So, to me, the only options are to either a) combine fire and water—making something new—or, as you hinted at, Harry, b) a matter of process where fire effects the water in some way."

"Seems logical," said Harry.

"What does fire and water make?"

"Steam," said Harry. Hermione nodded, writing down the conclusion.

"And what does fire do to water?"

"Well…" began Harry, thinking of the obvious before it suddenly dawned onto him. "Hermione, is it possible a compound rune could communicate both a process _and_ a product?"

"Well, the text doesn't say it can't," said Hermione slowly, though a small smile spread across her face. "What are you thinking?"

"Well, you can boil water, right," said Harry quickly. "That's a process; you take fire _to_ water and the heat from the fire will boil it—"

"—yes, go on." Her smile grew larger.

"Which fits the rune, since water is second," continued Harry, surprised by how quickly the words spewed from his lips. "And steam is what you get when you boil water." Hermione was grinning broadly now, her teeth fully exposed.

"You already came to that conclusion, didn't you," asked Harry.

"I did but not long before you did," she admitted.

"Why didn't you say something?"

"Because I wanted to see you work it out," she said honestly. "You think differently than I do, Harry. Also, I wanted to see if I was right."

"What do you mean?"

"I suggested Runes to you because I thought you might have a knack for it," she said. "I think you just proved me right."

"So you were testing me," asked Harry.

"Maybe," she said slyly. "Mostly I wanted you to realize you could do the work."

Harry was stunned. Hermione smiled again and wrote down the conclusion that the compound rune could either be a process or a product, or both.

"And don't think for a moment I won't tell Professor Babbling you worked this out alongside me," she added, closing the textbook and setting it on the table.

"I think it has more to do with bits of you starting to rub off on me," admitted Harry with a smirk.

"Merlin knows it's about time," she said, her face still stretched in smile.

 **() () ()**

Ron continued to give Hermione the cold shoulder as they descended the several flights of stairs toward the Great Hall. Harry walked between them, the icy atmosphere pulsating from his two friends far too apparent to ignore. Hermione, though, at least tried to reconcile with Ron. She had timidly asked after Scabbers welfare, to which Ron had replied stiffly, "hiding in one of my old socks in the dresser, scared senseless. Blimey, he'd just started looking better and then your cat has a go on him—"

"—Crooks doesn't know any better, Ron!"

"Then keep him locked up in your room!"

"That's not fair," argued Hermione, "A cat can't change its nature!"

"You should've bought an owl, then!"

Harry fought a newly-found desire to tell Ron he was over-reacting. But he knew Scabbers—regardless of how Ron had complained of his uninteresting pet in the past—was more important to the fiery red-head then had been admitted too in the past. Besides, Harry suspected Ron was still a little angry with him for dropping Divination.

And so, the three of them walked into the Great Hall as Harry maintained peace as a human shield between his two friends. He allowed himself a temporary reprieve as he observed the fanciful decorations covering the hall. Candle-lit Jack-o-Lanterns lined the walls, house colors were replaced with banners of black and orange, embossed with the Hogwarts crest, and Flitwick busied himself in the charming of a cloister of live bats to fly across the enchanted ceiling without incident.

Ron took a seat on the opposite side of the table, maintaining his separation from Hermione. Hermione appeared to agree with the situation and took her seat next to Harry, as far away from Ron as possible without appearing to sit alone. The food, as expected, was delicious—so delicious—that Ron was thoroughly distracted from his feud with Hermione. Harry glanced up at the staff table, noting Professor Lupin looked far more energetic than he had in the early afternoon. He watched Professor Lupin and Professor Flitwick engage in fervent conversation, neither touching their plates for several minutes. Snape brooded as usual, his eyes resting coldly on his diner plate when they weren't darting in Lupin's direction. Looking further up the table to Professors McGonagall and Dumbledore, Harry was quite certain they had revisited their conversation from lunch over "multi-step" Transfiguration. By the end of the feast, Harry has mostly forgotten his disappointment in missing his Hogsmeade debut.

Dumbledore drew the feast to an end by enlisting the school ghosts to perform a very shrill retelling of "The Legend of Sleepy Hollow," which was nothing at all like the version Harry had once heard over the television at the Dursleys. It gave Harry a new understanding of why Nearly-Headless Nick tried so desperately hard to join the Headless Hunt year after year.

Eventually, the remnants of pumpkin pie vanished from the table, every student groaning from full stomachs as began vacating the Great Hall. The feast had lifted everyone's spirits and Ron finally broke his silence.

"Best feast yet, I'd wager," he said as they climbed staircases. "Although, I think I prefer mum reading us the story of Sleepy Hollow."

"Yes, it was a bit unsettling," agreed Hermione. She was timid in her answer, her voice lined with caution.

"I don't think I'll want another slice of pumpkin pie for a year," said Harry as he rubbed his stomach gently.

"I thought for a moment you might actually out-eat Ronald," said Hermione.

"Oi," protested Ron. "I'm a growing boy!"

"If you're not careful, you'll soon be growing sideways rather than upwards," replied Hermione as they landed on the seventh floor corridor that led to Gryffindor Tower, however, it became apparent something was out of place. All of their fellow Gryffindors were jammed into the corridor.

"Get movin'," bellowed Ron over a scared first year in front of them.

"Ronald!"

"What," he retorted. "My bed is calling my name." Harry ignored Ron and stood on the tips of his toes, craning his neck over the huddle of students in front of him. The portrait of the Fat Lady was closed. Then, he spotted Percy, who by the looks of things, had just broken through to the front.

"What's the matter," he asked. Harry strained his ears but couldn't hear anything. Then Percy bellowed: "Someone call for Professor Dumbledore!"

All at once several students began speaking frantically.

"—the Fat Lady's gone missing!"

"—surely she's just stepped away…"

"—she never leaves the portrait, though…"

"Let's go," said Harry, fully aware they were at the rear of the huddled mass of Gryffindors. "We'll go get Dumbledore." Together, then, the three retreated down the corridor back to the moving staircases. They descended the first flight, surprised at how fast the news of the Fat Lady's disappearance traveled through the portraits. However, as they stepped onto the fifth floor landing, they found themselves face-to-face with Dumbledore, McGonagall, Lupin, and Snape.

"Professors," said Hermione, "The Fat Lady—"

"—is missing, yes," said Dumbledore quickly, waving her politely into silence. "News travels rather quickly through the portraits." Harry and the trio led the professors back up the stairs and down the seventh floor corridor to the very disgruntled, noisy gathering of Gryffindors. However, once Dumbledore's presence was realized, the students immediately filed to either side of the corridor, leaving the path to the abandoned portrait entrance clear. The three professors closed the gap at a brisk pace. Seeing an opportunity, Harry led Hermione and Ron through the gap left by the professors' before their classmates could congregate once more.

"Oh dear," said Hermione, grabbing hold of Harry's arm.

The Fat Lady had indeed vacated the portrait. But Harry's eyes were drawn to long, narrow tear running nearly the entire length of the portrait landscape. There were also several smaller gouges over the painting. Dumbledore ran his hand along the torn edges of the portrait door, his fingers gliding over the curled edges of canvas. He turned, facing his professors, his eyes dancing with electric energy.

"We must find the Fat Lady, quickly," said Dumbledore, his voice resonating inside the corridor. His eyes fell upon Professor McGonagall. "Minerva, find Mr. Filch; search every portrait."

"There's no need, your Headship, sir," said an oily voice from the wall. Peeves the Poltergeist glided through the wall, his smile twisting in delight. It was well known by all within Hogwarts the ghost loved chaos. But aside from the Bloody Baron, Peeves would not directly taunt or run afoul on the Headmaster. "She's taken refuge in the landscape of Dorset, on the fourth floor, sir, trying to calm her rattled nerves."

"Do you know why she has fled her post, Peeves," asked Dumbledore calmly.

"Terrified, your Headship, absolutely terrified," said the poltergeist. "See, she was running among the portraits, sir, distraught and crying—the poor thing—weeping as I've never seen before. But I suspect most would in her shoes, wouldn't you say?"

"That depends, Peeves," said Dumbledore, his voice now carrying an edge of impatience which was missed by no one. The poltergeist snapped into attention as though Dumbledore had brandished a whip.

"She wouldn't let him in, your Headship, sir," said Peeves, his oily voice slightly grating as the ghost now uttered words with at a very quick pace. "He barked a right storm at her—the unhappy fellow—demanded entry but she steadfastly refused. He didn't have the password, you see—"

"Who, Peeves," asked Dumbledore, his eyes narrowing as he surveyed the portrait once more.

"Aye, she screamed his name," answered Peeves, his eyes bulging and grin widening. "'Twas once a mighty Gryffindor gone mad from time spent behind four walls and iron bars, your Headship, sir; 'twas none other than Sirius Black."

 **() () ()**

The Great Hall doors slammed shut with a thunderous echo throughout the castle. Dumbledore stood alone in the hall foyer, wand held cautiously at his side. Then, without any warning, the castle plunged into absolute darkness. However, Dumbledore did not seem bothered by sudden absence of torch light. Everything was going accordingly.

He brought his free hand to rest upon one of the Great Hall door's many wide oak planks. He pressed his palm to the wood grain and held it there for several minutes. Then, nodding slightly to himself, ran his fingertips up and down the same plank, pausing occasionally to press his fingers flat as though checking for a pulse. Several seconds later, Dumbledore's patience was rewarded as several runic characters momentarily lit, glowing in brilliant blue and showering the darkened chamber with light. The ancient shapes twinkled and pulsed for only a moment before they dimmed and allowed the penetrating darkness to fall over the headmaster once more. Satisfied, Dumbledore turned his attention from the Great Hall to the matter at hand.

The entire staff had been dispatched to search the castle for Black. No Professor was to search the castle alone. Minerva and Filius would ascend to the North Tower via the castle's internal Floo network, proceeding to then work their way downward while Remus and Sinistra checked every unused classroom from the ground floor and upwards. Hagrid and Pomona searched the grounds. Poppy and Filch scoured every known secret passage in and out of the castle. The other professors were assigned to shared corridors. Severus combed the dungeons, alone, much to Dumbledore's dismay. The castle would gradually be relit to signal already searched areas. He turned his head and stared at the Great Hall doors. Ordinarily, he too would join in the search. He knew his enchantments upon the doors could not be easily breached. The intruder would need considerable time and even greater skill to break through. In fact, if Dumbledore had been pressured to placing a bet, he would wager none but Lord Voldemort could penetrate the protective enchantments Dumbledore had long inscribed upon the doors. Still, Sirius Black had done the miraculous several times over since his escape.

Dumbledore was uneasy.

The students were safe, secured, and would be comfortable through the night. The Head Boy and Girl were particularly qualified. Lastly, the ghosts could reach him effortlessly, unconstrained by stone and mortar.

He gripped his wand securely.

No, too many mistakes had already been made.

The decision was immediate; he would wait.

He would watch.

He would protect.

Minutes ticked on to hours as he occasionally glanced at his pocket watch with many brightly lit dazzling stars that illuminated his wizened face in the darkness of the castle.

Midnight approached.

All was quiet.

He paced the short width of the Great Hall's foyer, his robes swaying gently around his feet. _What are you trying to accomplish, Black,_ he pondered. _First, you allow Harry to leave your presence unscathed, letting your best opportunity slip from your fingers. Now you attempt to force entry into Gryffindor Tower despite all the obvious resources put into place to deter you and potentially capture you. Has Azkaban truly driven you senseless?_

Dumbledore checked his watch; another hour ticked by, yet he remained vigilant. The malnourished, un-practiced, and atrophied condition Black was likely to be in made him no less a threat. On the contrary, it likely made him desperate. Desperate people could accomplish the otherwise unthinkable.

It was another slowly creeping hour later when Minerva McGonagall emerged from the darkness and lit the braziers in the foyer, her usually tight bun disheveled and her square glasses slightly askew.

"News," asked Dumbledore.

"The castle has been fully secured, Albus," said Minerva. "Remus sends word also; all the unused classrooms are clear. He and Sinistra proceeded to join Hagrid and Pomona in a search of the grounds."

"Very well," nodded Dumbledore. "And the corridors? The closets? Have the known passage ways from the castle to the grounds been checked? Has anyone searched the Owlery, or Professor Trelawney's room?"

"All searched, Headmaster," said Filch as he hobbled around the corner, lantern swaying haphazardly in his feeble grip. "Poppy returned to the hospital wing."

"And the Fat Lady?"

"Took to hiding in a map of Argyllshire on the second floor, sir," said Filch. "Once she has calmed her nerves I will attend to restoring her."

"Thank you, Argus," said Dumbledore. He checked his watch. It was a quarter to three. "Has anyone heard word from Severus?"

"Afraid not, Albus," said Filius, his squeaky voice penetrating the foyer. "However, Pomona reports the greenhouses are undisturbed and vacant, as are the immediate grounds. They are proceeding with sensory search of the Forbidden Forest, but I think our Ministry guests will be far more effective in that regard."

"Thank you, Filius," said Dumbledore. "I believe it is unlikely that Black will attempt a second intrusion tonight, but all the same, please resume your patrols." The professors nodded and disbanded, each going in a different direction leaving the headmaster alone once more.

Dumbledore's solitude was short lived, however, as a burst of flame erupted overhead.

"All is clear in the skies, my friend," Dumbledore asked his pet phoenix. The majestic bird landed on his master's shoulders, his red and gold plumage brilliant and reflective in the torch light. He nuzzled the old man's face and let out a soft calming note.

"Thank you, Fawkes," said Dumbledore, giving the bird a single pat on the beak.

"Have you seen our friend, Severus?"

Fawkes let out another short, peaceful trill.

"Ah, yes, he does like to be thorough," acknowledged Dumbledore. He was sure Severus would not limit his search to the dungeons alone, but anyplace he might conceive a legitimate hiding place. Fawkes had confirmed as much. Severus had proceeded immediately to the third floor corridor, _no doubt,_ thought Dumbledore, _to search the chambers beneath the trap door_. So it was then, that Dumbledore decided not to wait on his potion's master. Instead he simply placed his free hand upon the Great Hall doors once more, waited as the runes relit and dimmed, and pushed the doors open, entering the hall. All was quiet.

He found Percy, patrolling between the rows of sleeping bags where the Gryffindors had huddled together. His eyes darted to the floor near Percy's feet; he spotted Harry next to his friends, feigning sleep. He allowed himself an internal chuckle before catching Percy's attention.

"Did you find him, Professor," asked Percy.

"No, it would appear he has eluded capture once more, I am afraid," said Dumbledore sadly. "All is well here?"

"Nothing amiss, Professor."

"Very good. There is no reason to move them now. I shall secure a temporary guardian for Gryffindor Tower before sunrise. You can move them back to the tower then."

"Seems strange, doesn't it, Professor, that Black would choose tonight?"

"If you are attempting to ascertain motive or reason, Mr. Weasley, I would caution restraint, lest you become an unwilling companion to his madness."

Percy raised his eyebrows. Dumbledore gave him a reassuring smile but was interrupted before he could say more as the doors of the Great Hall creaked open. Snape glided in, his eyes locked upon the headmaster. Dumbledore gestured for Percy to proceed with his patrol. Dumbledore checked his watch; the hour hand had just ticked to three in the morning.

"Severus, you are later than expected," said Dumbledore conversationally.

"The dungeons are clear; I did not find Black."

"Excellent," said Dumbledore. "And what of the third floor?" Snape paused for a moment, briefly surprised by Dumbledore's assertion. But Snape eyed the Phoenix and nodded.

"Clear as well."

"Thank you for checking, Severus. Honestly, I am not surprised; I did not expect Black to linger. It was very quick thinking of the Fat Lady to raise commotion."

"It would have been more prudent to lure him into a false sense of security," offered Severus.

"Perhaps," said Dumbledore. "But this is a school, Severus; I am relieved the perpetrator was otherwise deterred from remaining inside these walls."

"Of course, Headmaster," said Snape quickly, his voice dropping considerably. "Have you considered how Black managed to get inside the castle?"

"I have," admitted Dumbledore, his eyes closing for a moment. "I have considered several possibilities; each is unlikely as the next."

"You recall my concerns at the start of term, Headmaster?"

"I do, Severus," said Dumbledore. He looked at his potion's master sternly. This was a conversation he did not wish to repeat.

"Forgive me, Headmaster, but it seems—in light of all the precautions—highly improbably that Black could have entered the castle without assistance."

Dumbledore remained silent.

Snape continued.

"I did warn you, Headmaster—reminding you of their past friendship—when you appointed—"

"Enough, Severus," said Dumbledore dismissively. He shot a quick glance from the corner of his eyes to Harry's shoulder. "Not one teacher in this castle would help Black enter it. Now I must go and inform the Dementors."

"Wouldn't it have been prudent, Headmaster, to utilize them in the search of the castle?"

"Oh they would have very much delighted in that opportunity," said Dumbledore coldly. "But I shall sooner receive a dozen wool socks for Christmas before I permit a single Dementor admittance to these halls while I am Headmaster." Dumbledore abruptly bid Snape a goodnight, effectively ending Snape's inquiry and proceeded from the hall. Before he left though, he gave one last look over the huddled mass of students and resting finally upon Harry. _Merlin give me wisdom. I will protect you, Harry._


	14. The Guardians

Hello, everyone. So sorry for the very long delay. This chapter has been some time in the works and jumps around a bit, but we're finally back on. I was productive during my absence, having fully planned out third and fourth year, so hopefully, the writing will begin to flow more regularly once more.

For those waiting for the next update in "Hallows of Death," I promise it is likewise in the works. Very challenging chapter upcoming for that story. I hope to have that ready next week.

Without further ado, the next installment.

 **Chapter Fourteen: The Guardians**

Sirius Black's attempted intrusion of Hogwarts took like wild fire to the corridors of Hogwarts as students talked of nothing else. Sunday meal times were filled with outrageous and equally unlikely theories as students attempted to figure out how Sirius Black had infiltrated the castle undetected. The theories grew to such hype and improbability that Hermione eventually gave up correcting anyone who, in her words, _refused to open Hogwarts, a History_.

Dumbledore had procured a new guardian for Gryffindor tower, taking inspiration—Harry believed—from the stone gargoyle outside his own office entrance. The headmaster had enchanted one of the many suits of armor on display in a nearby corridor— _rather skillfully_ , Flitwick had been noted saying over breakfast—to stand a silent vigil over the portrait entrance. The knight did not speak and wielded a very intimidating two-handed axe. Though none said it aloud, Harry was sure everyone in Gryffindor Tower preferred the knight guardian over the Fat Lady.

Fuel was added to the fire Monday morning when breakfast was over-run by a swarm of Ministry Owls delivering a copy of the Daily Prophet. Hermione left her breakfast unattended as she unfolded her copy and pressed it flat on the table between her and Harry.

 **Danger Looms at Hogwarts!**

 **Black Evades Dementors and Outsmarts Teachers!**

Written by: Rita Skeeter

 _The Ministry of Magic has been inundated by a hailstorm of angry Howlers from concerned members of wizarding society Sunday morning following the Minister's sobering admission that Black had indeed successfully infiltrated Hogwarts sometime during the Halloween feast._

 _"It is my unfortunate duty to confirm that Sirius Black did infiltrate Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry," said a very flustered-looking Fudge during another all-too-familiar emergency press briefing this morning. "Professor Dumbledore alerted the Ministry a quarter past three in the morning of Black's sighting and reported that no student or a member of Hogwarts staff suffered any injuries or likewise encountered Black. The Ministry praises the quick efforts of Hogwart's staff to secure the students in a safe environment while a thorough search of the castle and grounds were underway."_

 _While families will be grateful nothing tragic occurred last night, many prominent members were outspoken during the conference, expressing their grave concern over the Ministry's continued lack of progress in Black's recapture as well as noting equal concern of Albus Dumbledore's ability to keep the students of Hogwarts safe._

" _Like any parent, Narcissa and I send our son to Hogwarts with the expectation he is in a safe environment where he can concentrate on bettering himself and his abilities as a wizard," said Lucius Malfoy after Fudge had opened the briefing to questions. "I am troubled by both the Ministry's apparent inability to recapture a single escaped convict who should, by all rights, have no place to hide, and equally troubled by the Headmaster's reported refusal to allow Dementors access to the school grounds. Last night illustrates the folly of the Ministry in allowing Albus Dumbledore's judgement to over-rule the concerns of parents such as Narcissa and myself."_

 _Lucius Malfoy's criticism of Albus Dumbledore did not end there, however._

 _"It appears to us that under the leadership and guidance of Albus Dumbledore, safety standards are not the only aspect suffering as of late. Our son has already been the victim of poor hiring decisions by the headmaster. A few weeks ago he was injured in his Care of Magical Creatures class by a rampant and unwieldy Hippogriff. I share in Narcissa's assessment that any competent teacher in the subject would have known better than introducing the subject with such intimate exposure to dangerous beasts. It is clear to me, at least, that our esteemed headmaster is gradually losing his highly praised sense of judgement."_

 _Lucius Malfoy is not alone in his sentiment. Several members of the Wizengamot voiced their agreement that the Ministry should be over-seeing the security arrangements regarding the school as well as raising the standards of the school. Albus Dumbledore was unavailable for comment._

 _What did Black hope to accomplish during his stroll through the corridors of Hogwarts? Ministry officials and Hogwarts staff remain silent and have offered little insight. Given recent events, this reporter believes Black attempted to infiltrate Hogwarts for a singular purpose; to finish the horrible deed his master attempted twelve years ago. I stand in solidarity with the magical community in expressing our deepest hope that the Ministry and those at Hogwarts take the safety of our students seriously._

"Malfoy didn't waste any time, did he," said Harry. "He got to criticize the Ministry, Hogwarts, and Dumbledore in one statement."

"I don't think Professor Dumbledore or Professor Hagrid have heard the last of this," agreed Hermione. "But I'm more concerned about this Rita Skeeter woman."

"What do you mean?"

"Her writing feels…disingenuous," she said, scanning the paper a second time. "She clearly has an agenda."

"Dad talks about her all the time," said Ron, finally swallowing his last mouthful of various breakfast samples. "Says she's always trying to cause a row at the ministry and force the public against one another. Dad'll always be the first to admit the Ministry isn't perfect, but even he thinks Rita is unfair."

"I'm worried about Hagrid," said Hermione, folding the paper and looking up to Harry.

"It doesn't look good, does it," asked Harry.

"Rita's already shaped the narrative," she said, frowning. "And Hagrid—even though he's been exonerated and is getting tutored privately—still appears as unqualified to the general public. It doesn't matter that Hagrid probably knows more about magical creatures than most _experts_ in that field of study. Malfoy didn't hold back and Rita took it hook, line, and sinker."

"His lessons have turned very dull, haven't they," said Ron, thoughtful now with a full stomach. "Flubberworms are definitely not what Hagrid had planned as a follow-up to Hippogriffs." Harry and Hermione nodded their agreement. If there was one thing they knew about Hagrid, it was that no creature was worth admiring if it didn't have three heads, poisonous fangs, flesh-ripping talons, or could breathe fire.

"We should visit him, you know," said Hermione.

"He usually invites us to tea by now," said Harry.

"Busier this year, isn't he," asked Ron. "Teaching and private lessons—suspect he's probably as busy as Hermione," he added with a sheepish grin.

"Very funny, Ronald," said Hermione, rolling her eyes. "But I think you're right."

"We could visit him after—" Harry started to say, but was interrupted from the end of the table.

"Team, team, gather 'round," shouted Oliver Wood, waving for their attention.

"What's the matter, Oli," asked Fred.

"Flint just came to see me," he said, his voice growing in volume. "We're not playing Slytherin this Saturday!"

"What do you mean," asked Alicia.

"Flint says their seeker is still in no condition to play, due to his _grievous_ injury."

"There's nothing wrong with that snake's arm," said George.

"He's only putting on a show to cause Hagrid and Dumbledore more trouble," said Harry.

"I know," said Oliver, face red and waving his hands high into the air. "That snake is laying it on thick and the weather is expected to be downright poor this weekend. I reckon Filch simply wants to give his seeker the best chance against Harry, not that it will do him any good," he added, giving Harry a very obvious look of pride.

"Who we playin', Oli," asked George.

"Hufflepuff," said Wood, his chest deflating and looking like he swallowed poison.

"What's the fuss, then," asked Fred.

"Hufflepuff's a pushover," agreed George. "Remember our last match? Harry caught the Snitch in less than five minutes!"

"Besides, what's a bit of rain," asked Fred.

"They have a new Seeker," argued Oliver. "Cedric Diggory—he's talented, determined, and he's put together a very formidable team!"

"Stop worrying, Oli," said Fred, clapping his back. "We're the best team in Hogwarts—we got nothing to worry about."

"I want the team on the pitch every day at six, no excuses," he huffed. He swallowed the entire contents of his juice glass and departed the hall in a hurried pace.

"He really wants to win this year, doesn't he," said Alicia.

The Gryffindor Quidditch team nodded in agreement. Practice was going to be hell.

 **() () ()**

While magical Britain struggled over the week to reassure the community of their efforts to capture Sirius Black, Harry adjusted to his new schedule. Despite the daunting task of catching up with his classmates, Harry's first impression of Ancient Runes was a welcome change of pace to Divination.

Professor Babbling taught in a classroom found on the sixth floor of the castle, down a lonely corridor off to the right. The classroom itself was warm, inviting, and brightly lit. Shelves of tightly rolled parchment scrolls lined the walls and banners sporting the colors of each Hogwarts house hung from the ceiling.

Professor Babbling was also very likeable and nearly the exact opposite of Professor Trelawney. She was relatively younger than her colleagues—possibly younger than Professor Lupin; her eyes were a sharp hazel and sparkled mischievously against her dark skin. She tied her raven-black hair in a tightly constrained bun similar to McGonagall and dressed in simple, unassuming grey robes.

"Good morning, class," said Professor Babbling, greeting them with a pleasant smile. "Firstly, I'd like everyone to welcome a new addition to the class, Harry," she added with a kind gesture in his direction. Harry looked around the class; it was a small group of students. Aside from Hermione and himself, no other Gryffindor had elected to take Ancient Runes. He recognized Terry Boot, Michael Corner, and Padma Patil from Ravenclaw, Susan Bones from Hufflepuff, and an equally surprising Blaise Zabini, from Slytherin.

Much to Harry's benefit—or so he suspected—Professor Babbling had insisted on reviewing everything the class had studied up to present. Harry learned the use of runes predated Merlyn and were used for ritual magic practices and wards. Runes were later adopted as a writing system—the Futhark—and given as a _gift_ to Muggles as the first peace offering between the two coexisting worlds.

"But we won't be studying the Futhark until after the winter break," reminded Professor Babbling. "We must continue to study the Futhark's primitive predecessors until we have a confident understanding of their functionality and relationship. If we fail to grasp the workings of these simple runes or the intents behind their users, we will have great difficulty with the Futhark's more complex system which is where the greatest depth of runic spellcasting and warding can be found."

Classes were not the only distraction Harry had from the looming shadow of Sirius Black as Wood had insisted on nightly practice sessions. The weather had taken a turn for the worse and an ever-present drizzle soaked the castle grounds for most of the week. Each visit to the Quidditch pitch ended only when the team was bone-chilled and their jersey robes were dripping with rain water. Harry spent each night bundled in a blanket next to the common room fireplace as he worked on his homework, his bones aching with cold.

Professor Dumbledore, however, brought Hermione the best news Friday at the end of supper.

"Miss. Granger, I have received correspondence from you parents and am delighted to inform you I shall be collecting them tomorrow morning," said Dumbledore with a cheerful tip of his hat. "I have likewise arranged guest quarters that are located at the end of the third floor corridor, past my own office. I believe they will find the arrangements comfortable."

Hermione leapt from the table and wrapped her arms around the old professor, uncaring of the disgusted glares from Slytherin table or the collective confusion of the other houses.

"Thank you, Professor Dumbledore," said Hermione, her smile radiant beneath the candlelight.

"It is I who should thank you, Miss, Granger," said the professor. "This is a cauldron long overdue for a good stirring." The professor gave them all a brief smile and retreated from the table.

"Are you sure you know what you're doing, Hermione," asked Ron.

"Yes," said Hermione.

"Muggles," he said, a slight frown on his face. "Muggles—here—in Hogwarts?"

"Precisely."

"Hermione, you know our kind won't like it. Think about Malfoy and the rest of Slytherin."

"Malfoy and Slytherin are not the only problem," argued Hermione, looking pointedly at Ron. "Our kind, their kind—that's the problem—we all live on the same planet!"

"You know that's not the issue," said Ron, his face turning a light shade of red. He dropped to a whisper. "You know there's a reason for the Statute of Secrecy, don't you?"

"I am very aware of the statute, Ronald," said Hermione, her voice dropping equally quiet. "I'm well aware, for instance, that it is equally necessary for our protection as it is theirs. But these are my parents—they already know about the existence of our world—and they have every right to attend a school sporting function where their daughter attends."

"Every Muggleborn has to deal with that," said Ron. "They adjusted to it. Look at Harry," he added. "You don't see him asking Dumbledore for his relatives to visit."

"You mean Muggleborns have left one world in exchange for another," scoffed Hermione. "I'm not going to _adjust_ to it. And for your information, it was Harry's idea to ask Professor Dumbledore."

"And my relatives hate magic," said Harry quickly. "I think Professor Dumbledore is doing the right thing," he stressed, looking at Ron.

"Alright, alright," said Ron, holding his hands up in defeat. "I'm not your enemy—I just—remember what happened last year, with Malfoy? He called you a, well, a you-know-what!"

"A Mudblood? I remember, Ron."

Hermione didn't linger in the common room that night. She had scooped Crookshanks into her arms and scampered up to the girl's dormitory with nothing more than an impassionate _goodnight_ to them both.

Harry knew Ron had meant well at dinner, but he also knew that Hermione was perfectly justified in her desire and longing for her parents to see the school their daughter attended for the majority share of the year.

"I didn't mean to upset her," said Ron as he climbed into bed. "But it's never been done before, you know? Everyone is going to talk about it."

Harry nodded his understanding, unsure exactly what he should say. He did know one thing, however; Hermione was going to need their support.

"We just need to be ready, Ron," said Harry, pulling his blanket back. "If I learned anything from last year, Slytherin won't be the only problem."

 **() () ()**

Dumbledore departed Hogwarts ten minutes after sunrise Saturday morning, long before students would emerge from their dormitories. The sky was heavily patched with angry dark clouds that showed no intention of departing before the afternoon's Quidditch match. The mountain air was distinctly winter cold as Dumbledore strolled past the pair of Dementors guarding the castle gate. He wrapped his traveling cloak tighter about himself and continued down the well-traveled cart road toward Hogsmeade. He gave the Dementors a conciliatory glance over his shoulder. Since Sirius' successful, yet ill-conceived infiltration of the castle, the horde of dark creatures had grown restless. This development made the headmaster undeniably uncomfortable, but regrettably, his concerns registered minimally with Cornelius when weighed against the mounting public pressure looming over the Ministry. Pressure—Dumbledore noted to himself—that was ever-expanding to the school governing body. Dumbledore arrived at the edge of the village a few minutes later where he briefly admired the magnificent silhouette of the castle and disappeared into nothingness.

A very short while later, Dumbledore reappeared on the lawn of St Jude's Church. He twirled his wand with a quick flash and transfigured his robes into a simple tweed suite, accented by a deep purple handkerchief in the front pocket. Satisfied with his appearance, Dumbledore set off down Heathgate toward the Granger residence.

The homes were beautiful, well cared for, and captured a pleasant village character he enjoyed immensely. The aged brick facades were marvelous contrasts to the fall-bitten leaves and well-manicured hedges.

Dumbledore crossed Meadway and passed several houses until he arrived at Number Nine, Heathgate. It was a narrow brick house, three stories, with an inviting pathway lined with a trimmed hedge leading to the front door. Dumbledore crossed the threshold and briefly admired the small front yard with a singular red-leafed aspen. He knocked on the door and waited.

 **() () ()**

"Alright, I'll admit this is a lot more than a bit of rain," said Fred as he shuffled into the locker room after breakfast, drenched and dripping as rain-water pooled at his feet. George followed closely behind, rolling his eyes.

"Unlikely we'll be dry by the start of next week's classes," quipped George. "I'm still waterlogged from this week's practice sessions."

"Can't be helped," said Wood, clapping his hands for the team's attention. "We've practiced all week for this—we can win." With the noted absence of Wood's usual pep talks, the team changed into their scarlet Quidditch robes. Harry tried to keep his mind on the impending match but his thoughts were decidedly elsewhere. He knew the Grangers were touring the castle with Hermione by now. He tried pacing around the locker room to focus, but his mind only wandered further as the minutes slowly gave way to the hour. It didn't help when Wood came back looking rather put-out.

"Visibility is going to be a problem," he said, looking pointedly at Harry.

"Yeah," was all Harry managed to say.

As the time approached for the Gryffindor team to vacate the locker rooms, the weather had only worsened. A ferocious wind swept over the Quidditch pitch, catching the house banners lining the stadium with great force, creating an almost haunting whistle as the rain splashed on the field. The stands were filled with huddled clusters of Gryffindor students gathered under large umbrellas. Harry wiped his glasses.

 _How am I going to catch the Snitch in this?_

Thunder cracked in the distance as Wood shook hands with Diggory. Harry joined his team on the field, mounted his broom, and waited.

He saw rather then heard Madam Hooch blow the whistle. He kicked off, his feet first sinking into the wet sod of the field before shooting upwards with a wet squelch eerily similar to a toilet plunger.

Harry was immediately grateful to Thomas who had gifted him a heating wrap for his broom. Between the wind-spurred rain and the acceleration of his broom, the rain drops were unpleasant at best against his face. Regardless, he ascended quickly above the field until the full stadium was in view. His glasses were quickly streaked, blurring his vision form the onset. He could make out only blurred figures below him as they raced from one end of the field to the other. Another crack of thunder boomed behind him and the sky grew darker still.

 **() () ()**

"My goodness they're fast," shouted William Granger as he whipped his head from one side to the other. Gryffindor and Hufflepuff had exchanged scores three times now, but Gryffindor was still in the lead with fifty points.

"You haven't seen anything yet," said Ron beside him, excited beyond all belief that he was sitting with someone as enthralled with Quidditch as he was for a change. "Wait until you see Harry chase the Snitch—he's got the fastest broom on the field."

"I admit, I'm looking forward to seeing Harry fly as well," said Remus, sitting behind them. He looked as pale as he had on the Hogwarts Express. "James flew spectacularly well back in the day. I've heard Harry is the better flier."

"He's very good," said Ron.

"Is it safe, though," worried Jane, eyeing the flash of lightning in the near distance. "Wouldn't rescheduling the match be more prudent?" Ron starred wide-eyed at Hermione's mother.

"Cancel a Quidditch match? It's never happened in the history of the game!"

"Nevermind Ronald, mum," said Hermione. "He's a bit passionate about it."

"Of course, of course," said Jane, waving away her daughter's concern.

"I can hardly see Harry," commented William, his face fully exposed to the sky. "He doesn't seem to be doing much."

"Not much for him to do at the moment," said Ron. "His job is to catch the Snitch and that's it. Harry's only concern is the other team's Seeker and flying Bludgers—he'd be in the way of the Chasers if he played this low on the field. Mind you, the rain isn't making his job easy."

"How big was the Snitch, again," William asked. Ron made a gesture with his thumb and forefinger, imitating the size of a golf ball.

"He's supposed to see a ball that size in this?"

"He'll do it."

"Bludgers," asked William, "those are the balls that go around trying to knock players off their brooms, right?"

"Yeah," said Ron. "Nothing to worry about too much with Beaters—my brothers, Fred and George—they're phenomenal."

"But not perfect," said Hermione, her eyes glued to Harry's dot in the sky.

"True, there was Dobby's rogue Bludger last year," admitted Ron. "The thing chased Harry no matter where he went—ended up breaking his arm—but he still caught the Snitch and won!"

"Broke his arm," repeated Jane. "Yet they don't wear any protective gear?"

"What's the point," asked Ron. "Madam Pompfrey can put anyone right in a jiffy. Harry knows that better than anyone." Jane and Hermione shared a knowing look but said nothing further.

"Magic has its advantages, I suppose," said William.

"Sure does," said Ron. Then, suddenly, pointed to the field at Gryffindor's scoring zone. "Wood's just landed," he said. "He's calling for a time out!"

"Excuse me, I'll be right back," said Hermione. She jumped from her seat and headed down the stairs toward the pitch. No one saw Remus offer a small smile as he watched the young witch descend to the Quidditch Pitch.

 **() () ()**

"Harry, have you seen the Snitch yet," asked Wood as the team gathered under the swaying tent.

"Wouldn't know it if I had, to be honest," said Harry as he tried to wipe his glasses on his robes, streaking the glass more. "I can't see anything with these on," he added, waving his glasses in the air. "But I can't see without them either!"

"We've got to think of something, fast," said Wood. "Otherwise we'll be playing into the night."

"Harry!"

Harry turned toward the stands and immediately spotted Hermione staggering down the final few steps of the stands, her cloak bundled tightly and held over her head.

"Hermione?"

"I've had an idea, Harry," she said as she stepped beneath the tent and retrieved her wand from inside her robes. "Let me see your glasses." Harry removed his rain-streaked glasses and placed them in Hermione's outstretched hand.

" _Impervius_ ," she said, tapping the glasses softly with the tip of her wand. "Here," she said as she placed the glasses gently onto his face again. "They should repel the water now!"

"Wow," said Harry, genuinely amazed. "Hermione, you're brilliant!"

"You're welcome," she said with a beaming smile. "Now would you please catch the Snitch quickly so we can all get out of this miserable storm?"

"I'll do my best," said Harry.

"Good luck," she said before darting from the tent and back toward the stands.

"Let's get back out there," shouted Wood with new-found enthusiasm.

Back in the air, Harry was admiring Hermione's spell work. Her charm had done the trick, allowing him to see clearly in the downpour. He went from one end of the stadium to the next, determined to end the match as quickly as possible.

 _Where is it,_ he wondered. He kept an occasional eye on Diggory just in case he caught sight of the Snitch before him. Then he saw it; a sudden movement near the base of the stands, out of sight of any spectators. But it wasn't the Snitch, Harry realized as he strained his eyes. Rather, it was an enormous, rain-drenched black dog, sitting peacefully, gazing up at the sky. Harry continued his slow circle of the field's perimeter, his eyes drifting back to the dog every few seconds.

 _The dog is watching me_ , Harry thought to himself. Harry felt a deep shiver unrelated to the cold rain and wind.

 _The Grim, my dear, the giant, spectral dog that haunts churchyards…_

Harry shook his head and focused once more on finding the Snitch.

 _Hermione's right_ , he reminded himself. _It doesn't mean anything…_

But he couldn't ignore the dog. Every time he circled back his eyes would dart to the bottom of the stands and he would see the dog looking up at him, its pointed snout following him as he traveled the length of the pitch.

"Harry!"

Harry swerved as his name floated up from the Gryffindor goal posts. Wood pointed in the direction behind him. Harry craned his neck over his shoulder to see Diggory ascending high into the sky. A good distance ahead he caught the glint of gold.

Harry leaned sharply into the nose of his broom and tore through the air at top speed. Harry kept eyes focused in front of him as he climbed altitude and began to close the gap between him and Diggory. A blast of cold air washed over him as he shot through the low hanging mist. The chilled air seeped into his lungs and chest. He could see the mist of his breath. Harry felt his heart constrict. He knew this cold.

The moment he recognized the familiar penetrating cold wash over his exposed face, Harry saw them, cloaks flapping in the wind he could no longer hear. They swarmed above him and below, circling him in a ring more dark and black than the thunder clouds. There was a flash of lightning, illuminating a pair of skeletal hands reaching out toward him.

" _Stand aside, woman…stand aside or die."_

 _"I won't," said the woman_

 _"Don't be foolish—death is permanent—death is the end..."_

 _"Please have mercy…take me instead…"_

 _"If I desired your death, you would no longer be begging me…now…stand aside!"_

 _"Please not Harry, please…I beg you, please…."_

And then the cold was gone. He felt light. Lighter than he'd ever felt on a broomstick.

 **() () ()**

"Oh no," shouted Hermione, pointing above.

"What is it dear," asked Jane, looking up. Harry had stalled in the air. Nothing appeared particularly wrong.

"Why's he doing that," asked William, turning to Ron, only to see a similar wide-eyed look appearing on the red head's freckled face as his daughter.

"Ron, he's going to fall," shouted Hermione, her voice frantic, terrified. She leapt from the stands, turned to Lupin, her eyes searching the professor frantically.

"Dementors," said Lupin hoarsely. "They've left their post." Lupin jumped from his seat, withdrew his wand and raced down the aisle stairs.

William Granger looked from his daughter to the back of Lupin's heavily patched robes, and then back to the sky. What on earth were Dementors? But he had little time to ponder the mystery as his eyes lingered on Harry. It was as if he were watching a slow motion film; first, Harry's body had gone slack, the tension of brief moments ago released as his hands let go of the broom handle. His body swayed back in a great arch as Harry fell from the back of his broom.

"Oh God," said Jane, her voice catching as she reached for her husband. Hermione darted from their row of seats and down the aisle steps, knocking Neville clean off his feet as she reached the railing of the stands. She saw Lupin had reach the edge of the pitch, his wand pointed skyward and shooting off red sparks. She turned sharply left and started to run toward the professor's stands. She inhaled a deep breath, ready to shout at the top of her lungs. It was at this precise moment that Dumbledore arrived at the edge of the railing, his eyes dancing with electric power and…anger.

" _Arresto Momentum_ ," said Dumbledore, his voice crackling with authority. Hermione looked once more to the sky. Harry was still falling, but his descent had slowed considerably. Every meter Harry fell took longer than the previous. By the time Harry had touched the ground, one might have thought he had simply fallen from few feet. Hermione let out a sigh of relief, only to inhale sharply a moment later. The horde of Dementors emerged from the mist; they wanted Harry!

The crowd was erupting in gasps and screams now, pointing up toward the sky. The Grangers knew now that something had gone horribly wrong. Hermione turned her gaze to the pitch. Professor Lupin was running at full speed toward Harry, but he would never make it in time. Then, Lupin raised his wand again and a silver wolf erupted from it, charging ahead of him toward Harry. Hermione knew then that Lupin had performed a Patronus. She had read about them after Harry's encounter with the Boggart. But now she had little time to ponder the beauty of the silver wolf or the intricacies of the magic.

The wolf Patronus arrived at Harry's side just as the first Dementor extended a skeletal hand toward Harry's unconscious body. The wolf snipped at the Dementor and it retreated. But more were coming. Half a dozen made a second attempt, charging the Patronus with almost apparent abandon. The wolf regrouped and lunged at the gathering of Dementors, forcing them back several feet. The wolf flickered and sputtered. It was then a much larger group of Dementors descended. Hermione gripped the railing. There were too many.

Then, as if it had appeared from thin air, another Patronus—an enormous dog—raced toward Harry from the edge of the pitch. It joined the faltering wolf as though they were longtime friends. The wolf Patronus regained its shimmering quality and together with the dog, they began circling Harry.

Several Dementors made a third attempt, descending swiftly from the main body. The dog and wolf snipped at them as they glided overhead. Twice more the small contingent of Dementors engaged the dog and wolf duo, each time forced to retreat as the Patronuses reformed their protective circle around Harry.

 **() () ()**

Remus could not believe his eyes. He had not seen this Patronus in over a decade. He looked around the perimeter of the pitch. He glanced over the wood scaffolding of the Quidditch stands. He even looked up into the stands despite knowing Sirius would never expose himself like that.

 **() () ()**

Dumbledore was not an un-fit man, but he was old. Racing down the several stairs would take time—time he didn't have. He could see Remus' knees about to give. And where did the second Patronus come from? To whom did it belong? These were questions Dumbledore sought to answer, but first, the Dementors had to be dealt with. He held his free hand high above his head. A second later, a burst of flame erupted over the stands as Fawkes descended upon his master. Another flash of fire and Dumbledore disappeared and reappeared onto the field beside Remus. Dumbledore raised his wand skyward and sent a brilliant, almost white phoenix into the sky that gave immediate chase to the Dementors. As soon as the Dementors dispersed, both the wolf and the dog Patronus faded away. Dumbledore helped Remus stand on his feet and conjured a stretcher. Remus scooped Harry into his arms and laid him in the stretcher which he and Dumbledore accompanied to the castle.

 **() () ()**

"I do not care if Cornelius is entertaining, I will speak to him now," said Dumbledore, his head hung low over the fireplace. "The Dementors have disregarded the agreed-to arrangements of their stationing here and it could have resulted in a student's death."

"I beg your pardon, headmaster," said Delores Umbridge, her likeness moving about in the warm coals of the fireplace, "what I meant to convey is that the Minister is entertaining important dignitaries from France and Bulgaria and is not in the office presently."

"Then get him inside the ministry post haste!"

"With all due respect, headmaster, you do not have the authority to summon the Minister of Magic over an inconsequential sporting incident in which the school is responsible overseeing."

"And I will kindly remind you, Madam Undersecretary that the Dementors— and their behavior— fall under the full responsibility of the Ministry."

"I shall send an owl to the Minister, I can promise nothing more," said Umbridge. "I or someone from the Minister's cabinet will reach out to you as soon as Cornelius responds."

"Very well," acknowledged Dumbledore.

"Good day to you, Professor."

"Wish it were so," he said as the green flames returned to a blazing red. Dumbledore cupped one hand into another behind his back as he approached the window overlooking the Quidditch field. Behind him, Fawkes let out a soft shrill. He turned to look at his faithful familiar.

"Yes, I am stubborn, old friend."

The bird offered a deeper, sustained note.

"He has proven himself over and again," said the old wizard, nodding his agreement. "But he's young. Is it wrong to shield him like I do?"

Fawkes shook his head and offered the shortest note yet.

"You think so?"

Fawkes gave a short nod.

"I only fear I will fail him, Fawkes."

The majestic bird took to the air briefly before landing on his master's shoulders, offering up a soft note to his ear.

"Yes, dear friend, my resolve is crumbling rather spectacularly."

 **() () ()**

Hermione, along with her parents, remained gathered around Harry's bed long after the Quidditch team and Ron—giving himself a promised, but brief dinner reprieve—had dispersed. For a while no one said anything. Hermione simply sat in the chair at Harry side, her hands holding the edge of the blanket. Several times she had reached toward his hand but withdrew at the very last moment. William and Jane Granger watched their daughter with a mixture of concern, helplessness, and pride. They didn't understand magic. They didn't know what Dementors were. They knew magic was as equally dangerous as it was wondrous. But they were familiar with bedside visits. They were likewise no strangers to bullying and prejudice.

"Hermione, dear, can we talk to you about something?"

Hermione nodded, but didn't speak. Her eyes didn't leave Harry either.

"We overheard that boy, earlier, in the stands," she said, her words slow, careful, and calculated. "He called you something very unpleasant, didn't he? I don't think he knew we heard him."

Again, Hermione nodded, quietly wiping away the solitary tear from her eye.

"Sweetheart, we just want to help," said William encouragingly.

"You can't," said Hermione. "His name is Draco Malfoy. He's got a rotten personality and thinks he's better than everyone. His father was a Death Eater—you know—a supporter of You-Know-Who."

William looked thoughtful for a moment and then spoke again.

"You mean a supporter of the man who—"

"—killed Harry's parents? Yes."

"What are Dementors," asked Jane.

"Dark creatures," she said. "They guard the wizard prison, Azkaban. They're here to protect the school and capture Sirius Black. They have terrible powers. They force you to relive your worst moments. And Harry…" but Hermione couldn't finish the sentence. She knew what had caused Harry to fall unconscious. How much had he heard this time? She didn't know. She knew Harry was unlikely to say anything about it.

"Will you be alright, Hermione, if your mum and I go and see the headmaster?" Hermione nodded.

"But you should go with another professor," said Hermione.

"I can accompany them to the headmaster's office, Miss. Granger," said Madam Pompfrey as she strolled around the corner. She came up to the opposite side of Harry's bed, felt his forehead, then checked his pulse.

"He'll be fine, I think," said the nurse. "He's fallen into normal sleep now."

"Thank you," whispered Hermione.

"Shall we go," asked the nurse, looking to the Grangers. They nodded and followed the nurse out of the hospital wing. Before they left, however, they gave one last look over their daughter and the young boy in the hospital bed. William and Jane shared a brief look and followed the Nurse down the corridor.

 **() () ()**

Remus sat in the chair in his office, his knuckles white as he gripped the arms of his chair tightly. Harry could have died today. He never would have forgiven himself if he had. He had failed James and Lily once already. He couldn't afford to take any more chances. Harry deserved better. James deserved better. Lily deserved better. He had wrestled with the decision long enough. He knew who the dog Patronus belonged to. He also believed he knew how Sirius was moving around the castle grounds undetected. In fact, he was not confident in how Sirius had managed to escape the Dementors in the first place. Now he just needed the courage to tell Dumbledore everything.

Everything.

Even if that meant losing the trust Dumbledore had given him long ago.

Because Harry deserved better.

Remus stood from the chair, walked to the fireplace, grabbed a pinch of powder from the mantle and tossed it into the blazing flames that turned emerald green.

"Headmaster's office," said Remus, his voice scratchy. He didn't feel well. The full moon was very near. He was still cold from his exposure to so many Dementors. But he was determined. This time he would not falter.

"Remus," answered Dumbledore's voice from the fire grate.

"Headmaster, I must speak to you, urgently."

"Certainly," said Dumbledore.

"Privately," he added.

"Very well, I'll open the fireplace. Come on through."

Remus swallowed heavily and stepped into the fire.

 **() () ()**

Sirius Black was curled up, eyes closed and fluttering wildly on the old wooden floor of the long forgotten shack. The wind whistled through the cracks. He had wrapped himself tightly in his own arms, his body rocking back and forth as he dreamed restlessly.

"I'm so sorry, James…so, so sorry. Forgive me, Lily… I'll protect him this time. I swear it… I swear it…"


	15. Sifting through the Truth

**Chapter Fifteen: Sifting through the Truth**

"Good evening, Remus," greeted Dumbledore, his hands held loosely behind his back as his eyes peered through his office window. The storm clouds of a few hours past had finally expired with the night hours descending over the grounds. The near full moon's reflection danced in and out of cloud cover, catching the edge of the Black Lake as it did. Dumbledore turned then, his eyes gazing over his half-moon spectacles at his professor. He was terribly pale. Had Dumbledore not known otherwise, he would have thought Lupin to be extremely ill.

"Please, sit down," the old wizard suggested and gestured toward a rather comfortable arm chair at the front of this desk. Lupin gave the headmaster a tiny nod and took a seat, welcoming the soft cushion of the back rest and closed his eyes, tipped his head back and exhaled long and slow. He did not witness the sympathetic look Dumbledore gave him.

"I would offer you a brandy were it not so adverse to the Wolfsbane Potion," said Dumbledore, taking his own seat.

"Water would be satisfactory," said Lupin, his mouth quite dry. Dumbledore gave his wand a short flick and a water glass and accompanying pitcher appeared upon the desk. Dumbledore poured a glass and pushed it along the surface of the desk to Lupin, who nodded his quiet thanks. Dumbledore then poured himself a smaller glass of his favorite brandy. For moment, neither Dumbledore nor Lupin said a word. Both men appeared equally contemplative, each looking at their own glass as though expecting answers to swirl and form on the fluid surfaces of their drinks.

"I failed him today," said Lupin, finally. He did not look up from his glass and his slate-green eyes appeared dull and tired. He swirled the water slightly, swallowed heavily, and closed his eyes again.

"That is a gloomy perspective, Remus," said Dumbledore, kindly. "I think you judge yourself too harshly."

"I couldn't help but see James when I woke on the train and first laid eyes on him. It had been such a long time since I'd last seen him—before James and Lily had gone into hiding—and then to see him grown up so suddenly as if time had simply traveled far forward and in the blink of an eye; it was almost too much for me. And then this evening, well, watching him fall was like failing James and Lily all over again."

"I think James and Lily both would have felt great gratitude in how you responded to Harry's time of need," countered Dumbledore. "But I understand your feelings; it was I, after all, who persuaded Lily and James to hide by way of the Fidelius Charm. Indeed, as of late, I cannot help but think I should have noticed something, kept better watch, or provided further protection. And I have failed three times since Harry has rejoined our world in protecting him here, in the castle, where he should be safest."

"You should take your own advice," said Lupin. "Harry would have suffered a terrible fall without your quick intervention."

"Perhaps, but his exposure to the Dementors should never have happened."

"No, it shouldn't have, but it did. None of us can do anything about that now."

"Has he spoken to you, Remus, about his encounters with them?"

"No," said Lupin, sadly. "I don't think he's confided in anyone—not even with Ron or Hermione. They know enough to know what Harry has probably heard—but the details…no, I don't think he's divulged anything since his first encounter on the train."

"The Dementors have taken a particular interest in him since then," said Dumbledore, taking a sip of his brandy. "I fully intend to place additional wards around the Quidditch Pitch before the next match."

"I assume you've contacted the Ministry," asked Lupin. "The Minister was quoted in the Daily Prophet as very assuring to the public that the Dementors wouldn't disrupt any day-to-day activity here at the school."

"The Minister is currently away from his office and his Undersecretary is not a cooperative woman," said Dumbledore. "She indicated she would forward an owl to the Minister, but I find little confidence in her follow-through. "

"Yes, I know of her," said Lupin. Despite his weariness, his voice had adopted a bite. "Last I heard, she was drafting support for an expansion to anti-werewolf legislation."

"Legislation I intend to fight very aggressively, Remus," said Dumbledore, reassuringly. "I hope to highlight your success here if that bill is brought before the Wizengamot."

"Thank you."

"But time will make fools of us if we digress any further," said Dumbledore. "I believe you had something urgent you wished to discuss with me?"

"Yes," said Lupin, "I wanted to discuss the second Patronus that protected Harry."

"Ah, good," said Dumbledore, taking his second sip of brandy. "Do you have any theories?"

"I wish they were, Headmaster."

"Something more substantial, then?"

Lupin offered another nod and emptied his water glass and set it down upon the desk a bit louder than he intended.

"I've seen that Patronus many times, Dumbledore," he said, swallowing heavily. "I've not seen it in twelve years, but I know it to be Sirius Black's." Dumbledore nearly spilled the contents of his glass. He set his brandy upon the desk and retreated from the desk quickly.

"You are certain of this," asked Dumbledore as he descended the few steps of his desk platform toward the black cupboard he kept by the office door. "Did you see him?"

"No, I did not," said Lupin, "but I'd never mistake the form either."

"We're missing something," said Dumbledore, his head now hidden behind the open cupboard doors. "I am starting to believe, Remus, that we are missing essential pieces of this puzzle."

"I may have a few of those," said Lupin.

"Such as," asked the headmaster as he set the Pensieve upon his desk. He took his seat and waited for Lupin to speak.

"Dumbledore…what I have to say…it isn't easy for me."

"Whatever do you mean?"

"Your trust," said Lupin, swallowing hard. "Your trust in me as a child and now—as a teacher in the very school I once thought I could never attend as a child—has meant everything to me. Without it, I would have never had such a thing as hope, and I would have never met James, or Lily, or Sirius and Peter. I would very likely have ended up like Fenrir and so many of my kind…alone and a true monster." He hastily looked away from the headmaster, his eyes downcast and looked upon the grain pattern of the wooden floor determinedly.

"And I do not regret it," said Dumbledore. "You are a good man, Remus." Lupin let loose a heavy sigh.

"Forgive me, Dumbledore, but I fear you may regret it yet," he said softly. He looked up, eyes misted, hands balled into tight fists.

"Explain," said the headmaster. His electric blue eyes narrowed as though they might pierce the soul of the man sitting before him.

"I think I know how Sirius escaped Azkaban and how he has been getting around undetected."

Dumbledore closed his eyes, withdrew his wand and flicked it forcibly at the office door which was followed immediately by several locking noises.

"Tell me everything, Remus; no detail is too trivial."

"Sirius Black is an unregistered Animagus," said Lupin quickly.

"When did you learn of this, Remus?"

"Fifth year," admitted Lupin, looking down at the wood floor.

"Sirius managed to become an Animagus all on his own—while only a fifth year student?"

"He didn't manage it completely on his own…"

"He had help," interjected Dumbledore, his voice dropping with his shifting thoughts. Lupin continued to stare at the floor. Dumbledore took notice of his professor's discomfort, cleared his throat, then spoke gently to the man he knew to be incredibly courageous.

"Remus, you must tell me everything if I am to understand," said Dumbledore. "Whatever you may have known as a student and chose not to disclose until now, I trust implicitly that you had good reason and noble intentions. Regardless of what you reveal to me tonight, it will not change anything between us."

Lupin didn't answer, but nodded his head slowly. Then, with great effort, started to speak.

"My friends—they could hardly fail to notice I disappeared once a month," he said, speaking to the floor. He wanted to talk face-to-face to the headmaster but knew it would be easier to simply carry on.

"James and Sirius confronted me one night near the end of second year; I had told them so many excuses for my unexplainable absences and I suppose it was only inevitable that I would slip up and get my stories crossed or what have you, but they had caught on long before. They asked why it was always on the full moon I was away. I didn't have an answer. And they already knew."

"I see," said Dumbledore. "I had always been under the impression you confided in them about your condition. I can hardly be surprised they figured it out, though."

"I thought it was over—my secret revealed—the end of my days at Hogwarts…the end of magic…no more friends..."

"But your friendship did not end…"

"No, on the contrary, James and Sirius were quite cross with me that I hadn't told them. I'll never forget what Sirius said; _how dare you think so little of our friendship, Remus_. Sirius could cut right down to the bone when he wanted to."

Dumbledore, despite the seriousness of the situation, could not refrain from an involuntary chuckle. Even with the remarkable memory he possessed, he could not easily recount the number of times Sirius had been sent to his office for _insensitive_ —thought admittedly truthful—remarks. Hearing the small laughter escape the headmaster, Lupin was able to raise his head and couldn't help but smile for a moment.

"They brought Peter up to speed the next day," said Lupin, his smile fading but his voice a little more confident. "They knew I turned into a dangerous, full-fledged monster every month, but…they didn't care in the slightest. That would have been enough for me. To know they accepted me for who I was and wouldn't reject me for the monster hidden within me. But James and Sirius, well, they felt a need to show just how much they wanted to help me. They decided to become Animagi."

"James underwent the transformation as well, then?"

"And Peter," admitted Lupin. "It took them the better part of three years to do it, but part way into fifth year, James, Sirius, and Peter could change into an animal at will."

"Astounding," said Dumbledore, elbow propped up on his desk as he stroked his beard. "Three unregistered Animagi, here, in Hogwarts, right under my nose."

"We ran a lot of pranks and earned several detentions to keep our true motives secret," admitted Lupin.

"A good way as any to hide one's true motives," acknowledged Dumbledore. "Very well; so James and Sirius had discovered your affliction, and then pursued the Animagus transformation, but why?

"As you know, they could never be in my presence as humans," said Lupin, shifting uncomfortably in the chair, "but as animals…"

"They could keep you company, even as a werewolf," finished Dumbledore, stroking his beard with interest. "Yes, I see. Very ingenious of them—noble even—though still incredibly dangerous. I assume they came to visit you in the shack during your transformations?"

Lupin nodded.

"Well, I certainly would not have approved—had I been approached in the first place—but such a daring step for all of you and no harm befell you or another student, so I think the expression is: _no harm, no foul._ Still, an animal's mind and thoughts are less complex, driven primarily by base desires. Granted, an Animagus retains most of their human thoughts, but it takes extensive time and practice to distinguish them apart and thus act upon them appropriately. I imagine it was some time before they entered the shack with you?"

"Yes, James and Sirius figured that out fairly quickly. And they practiced almost every night. It wasn't long before they were roaming the grounds or sneaking into Hogsmeade mid-week during long breaks. Peter had the hardest time—probably wouldn't have managed without James' and Sirius' help. By the end of fifth year, they were keeping me company."

"And what forms did they take?"

"James was a proud, agile stag, Sirius, a large, grisly black dog, and Peter, a slightly larger than typical common white garden rat," said Lupin. "It worked well; James and Sirius were large animals and able to keep me in check should the worst ever happen, and Peter, small and practically invisible to anyone could navigate the Whomping Willow without any trouble."

"As I said, ingenious," admitted Dumbledore, "and with a little bit of luck, too."

"Probably more than we'd ever care to admit."

"Returning to the matter at hand, you believe this is how Sirius was able to escape Azkaban?"

"I do," said Lupin. "As you pointed out, an animal's thoughts are less complex than a human's. It's very possible he was able to transform and slip through the bars and the Dementors would be none-the-wiser. They wouldn't notice a dog, or at the very least, pay any attention to one. They can't see, so…"

"That is a far more agreeable explanation than any conclusions I envisioned since his escape," said Dumbledore. "It would also explain how he infiltrated the school without detection." His eyes were closed now, brows furrowed heavy with concentration as he held the tip of his wand to his temple. A moment later, he was pulling a strand of glistening silvery blue string-like substance from his head. When he had fully extracted the substance, he flicked his wand gently over the Pensieve and the strand dissipated into the glassy surface with a subtle ripple.

"However," he continued, "this revelation answers only a small piece of the mystery. And Remus," he added, his eyes twinkling in the candlelight for the briefest of moments, "you've shared nothing that changes my opinion of you."

"Them keeping me company during my transformations wasn't the worst of it, headmaster."

"Oh?"

"Eventually we got reckless," said Lupin.

"You left the shack…"

Lupin didn't answer immediately. Then, suddenly, he hung his head limply and spoke quickly to the floor.

"Forgive me, Dumbledore," said Lupin. "I abused your trust as a student—we all did—but I should have known better. You made all those precautions to keep me and other students safe and I repaid you poorly. And all this after you had just appointed me Prefect."

Dumbledore didn't respond right then. He allowed silence to fill the office, the only discernable noises to be heard were the odd mechanisms strewn about the office on shelves. None of the portraits stirred.

"Thank you for telling me this, Remus," said Dumbledore, finally, his voice soft. "You demonstrated valiantly why you deserved a Prefect's badge then, and are worth your employ today."

Lupin raised his head, his expression blank but his eyes betrayed completed surprise.

"But no more of this now," said Dumbledore, before Lupin could protest further. "We still have far too much to discuss. Returning to the matter at hand; Sirius' Patronus. You witnessed the same events I did—there can be no question the Patronus was protecting Harry. Ever since his escape this summer, I am troubled when I try to reconcile the Sirius Black I knew as a student and Order member—the outspoken, unabashed critic of dark magic and his family's legacy—and Sirius Black the traitor. His actions since his escape—barring his infiltration of the castle and damaging property of the school—are more complimentary of the former, rather than the traitor I presented him to be before Barty Crouch."

"I know precisely what you mean," said Lupin. "I've had twelve years to dwell on everything; learning to hate him, despise him, and wish an untold number of tortures and sufferings upon him. But now…I'm not so sure; between the Patronus, his inaction with Harry over the summer, and now Harry himself has me questioning everything all over again."

"What do you mean?"

"We've actually talked a few times now," said Lupin with a smile. "And you were right, by the way—he is much more like Lily than James. After we talked a while during his missed Hogsmeade trip, he inquired if I had been friends with Sirius, since he'd learned by that point I was friends with James. It surprised me. I didn't think I was ready to talk about Sirius, but, well, I did."

"And what was Harry's reaction?"

"It didn't make any sense to him," relayed Lupin. "He said— _to spend your life attaining the skills to fight dark magic…to break away from a family that supports the very thing you hate…only to turn so completely_ —that's what he said. As you know, Harry seems to think Black had no interest in taking his life that night. But that isn't what struck me, Dumbledore. That isn't what made me start to doubt—even though I told Harry the opposite that day. What makes me question everything I know I'm supposed to believe is what Harry shared with me about his meeting with Sirius; _he looked sad when I didn't know who he was._ I don't know why that struck a chord with me, Dumbledore, but it did."

"I admit it is peculiar," said Dumbledore. "What are you suggesting, Remus?"

"I don't think we know the whole story," said Lupin, simply, but his lips had scrunched tight and his eyes had narrowed in focus. "Suppose Sirius did break out to kill Harry, why wait twelve years? Was he unable to transform until now? Maybe that's true, but it wouldn't have been true at the point of his incarceration? He would have had little Dementor exposure then and could have escaped far more easily!"

"That would certainly be more logical, yes," nodded Dumbledore. "Which suggests Sirius had no motivation to escape Azkaban until now."

"I think motive is precisely where this whole narrative unravels," continued Lupin. "I know you've worked very hard to ensure few people know where Harry lives—myself being one of many left uninformed. Which I do not begrudge you for in the slightest," he added, seeing a flicker of discomfort flash over Dumbledore's face. "I understand the rationale for keeping him in the Muggle world and blissfully ignorant of the magical community. I know that was hard for you, being as close to Lily and James as you were. But the point is, James and Lily never told me either. Yet, Sirius clearly knew where Lily's sister lived. And what is more, he went there and confronted Harry, but rather than finish him off, he gives him warning instead."

"Warning from what, though," prompted Dumbledore. "Harry is in no immediate danger from Lord Voldemort or any other supporter that I have been aware of—not that such a possibility should be wholly discounted. As far as supporters are concerned, Lucius Malfoy has been the only one to act thus far—if we exclude Sirius—and I do not believe he is in any particular haste for a second attempt, having been thoroughly embarrassed by Harry already."

"Could be anything," said Lupin. "It's possible his brains have been addled in such a way that he's developed multiple personalities. It could explain why his actions appear contradictory. The old, good part of him is protecting Harry, while the rot within him seeks to destroy Harry."

"But you do not believe this to be the case," said Dumbledore knowingly.

"I know Dementors wreak havoc upon the mind and spirit of a wizard if left exposed too long, but…something isn't right here. If he truly wanted Harry dead, he wouldn't have hesitated! If he was willing to kill Peter in the middle of Muggle London, taking twelve other innocent lives simultaneously, why hesitate now? Think of any other Death Eater currently residing in Azkaban—Rookwood, Dolohov, Travers, or any Lestrange—they would have killed him the moment they had the opportunity!"

"You knew him well, Remus," said Dumbledore slowly. "What do you think his motive is?"

"I can't be for certain—there's just too much doubt in the Sirius I thought I knew, and the one I've believed in for twelve years—but there's only one thing that would explain his actions," said Lupin, his face turning dark. "And it is as equally upsetting as when I first learned of Sirius' betrayal."

"Go on."

"What if it didn't happen the way we think it did," suggested Lupin, tepidly. "What if we got it wrong?"

"What you mean is what if Sirius was not the Secret Keeper," asked Dumbledore slowly, his eyes narrowing as we swirled his wand over the surface of the Pensieve. The many portraits of a young Sirius Black dissipated into a blur as a new scene took shape—a meeting Lupin recalled with startling clarity. Several faces sharpened into focus. They were gathered in the attack of Frank and Alice Longbottom's home. Aside from his younger self, Lupin gazed upon people who have given their lives for the cause.

"You will remember as clearly as I do, when Sirius and James both confirmed Sirius would be the Secret Keeper," said Dumbledore, gesturing at the scene beneath their gazes. "There were few members of the Order at headquarters during that unveiling," he added, naming them all. "Aside from you and I, only Lily, James, Peter, Sirius, Frank, Alice, Alastor, and Aberforth, were present."

"I remember," said Lupin, eyes resting sadly upon the swimming images of James and Lily. "James told everyone that Sirius was Secret Keeper. Sirius proclaimed he would die before giving _Voldy_ anything."

"He did indeed," said Dumbledore. "It was the day after when the Fidelius Charm was placed. Little more than a week later, well, you know the story as well as I do."

"I know what it looks like," admitted Lupin. "But nothing else makes sense. We're missing something."

"If Sirius was not the Keeper, then who was," said Dumbledore. "If there was a switch, like you suggest, there is only one other logical person they would have chosen, given that it was obviously not you. Furthermore, if they did indeed switch, why not tell you? Or me, for that matter?"

"I already said my theory was as upsetting as the truth I doubt currently," repeated Lupin. "It means Peter was the Secret Keeper and it makes me just as sick and nauseous."

"Why not tell you if they intended to make the switch?"

"We knew there was a spy somewhere in the Order," admitted Lupin darkly. "We knew someone was keeping Voldemort in the know about Lily and James' movements. It would have to be someone close to Lily and James. No one would suspect Sirius, and Peter, forgive me, was not the most talented wizard among us. Whereas I…well…I was the sort of…monster Voldemort recruited."

"I do not believe for a moment that Lily or James suspected you of being a Death Eater," comforted Dumbledore, but Lupin shook his head.

"They didn't suspect any of us, but one of us still betrayed them in the end," argued Lupin. "I don't begrudge them if they thought it. I am a werewolf. If you were to suspect anyone…well…I can hardly blame them, even if it does hurt. I tried to ignore it then, but James, Sirius—and to even a lesser extent, Peter—all started to distance themselves towards me for well over half the year leading up to the Fidelius Charm. So, if they did switch, they wouldn't have told me."

Silence dropped in the office again as Lupin fell into his own thoughts. Dumbledore closed his eyes and took in a long, slow drink of his brandy.

"Come to think of it," said Lupin, slowly, looking over the Pensieve. "Everyone here was closer to James and Lily than anyone else in the Order." Dumbledore looked at the image again. He seemed to ponder it for some time before a spark erupted in his eyes.

"Remus…your theory is right, and Sirius was not the Secret Keeper," said the professor, leaning forward and stroking his beard, "yet tells everyone close to the Potters that he is…"

"A prank," said Lupin, quicker and louder than he anticipated.

"Even I do not believe Sirius would have considered a prank in such grave circumstances."

"No, he would have," said Lupin, "not a prank directed to Order members, but certainly to Voldemort. Sirius had a bit of dark humor and he was a master of misdirection—which, admittedly, is argument enough to believe he did indeed betray them—but if not, then he just laid a very effective false trail that—"

"—would have led Lord Voldemort to a person who could not give the secret, even under the duress of intensive torture," finished Dumbledore, his eyes wide in surprise, "and ultimately, would inevitably reveal a small pool of possible suspects as to who was passing information onto Lord Voldemort. Yes…but it is a great deal of conjecture, completely dependent on his unproven innocence," added Dumbledore with a frown. "Let us explore the possibility that Sirius persuades James and Lily to switch to Peter. Why?"

"If Sirius wanted to force the enemy's hand, the logical choice for Secret Keeper was himself. Informing those closest to James and Lily wouldn't come as a surprise, either. Thinking back, it was strange behavior for Sirius to tell anyone other than perhaps you that he was the Secret Keeper."

"Yes, odd behavior indeed," concluded Dumbledore, looking down at the Pensieve once more.

"Still, everyone would have expected Sirius to be Secret Keeper. Since they suspected me, the obvious choice for an alternate Keeper is Peter, who few would ever suspect as being the Secret Keeper."

"Alright," nodded Dumbledore, "then, presumably, Peter informs Lord Voldemort that he has been made Secret Keeper. Peter informs Lord Voldemort of the hiding location and attacks, and then flees in a weakened state after his attempt on Harry's life. I arrive at Hogwarts a few hours after the attack and realize wards are failing around Potter Cottage. I set out for Godrics Hollow at once to find the house in ruins and Bathilda Bagshot attempting to comfort little Harry. I summoned Hagrid to Godrics Hollow while I went to prepare his eventual home. Hagrid informed me later that night that Sirius arrived on his motorcycle, demanding custody of Harry. Hagrid, of course, did not relent, though he knew nothing of the events that had transpired. Eventually, Sirius concedes and lends Hagrid the motorcycle to transport Harry to his Aunt and Uncle—which, now I think of it, is what Hagrid told Sirius. So he knew where Harry has been living this whole time.

"If Peter was indeed the Secret Keeper, Sirius now has motive to hunt Peter down," continued Dumbledore, "though, based on eye-witness accounts, it sounds like Peter was the one who tracked Sirius down. This is where the theory meets insurmountable evidence. Twelve Muggle deaths and not but a finger remaining of Peter Pettigrew. Dozens of witnesses say that Peter confronted Sirius and accused him of betraying James and Lily. And of course, there was Sirius, laughing wildly as the Aurors took him into custody. No resistance, no plea, no explanation. Just…laughing."

Dumbledore now looked very old and warn out. He closed his eyes and looked as though he didn't want to open them again.

"It is possible, though—and often the case—that people do not see and hear what they _think_ they saw or heard," said Dumbledore, taking one more sip of his brandy. "Any eye-witness to the event has long been Obliviated. The only one who can give us the truth, is Sirius Black, and he remains as elusive as ever. Though knowing he is an unregistered Animagus, that may change."

"Will you inform the Minister," asked Lupin.

"Not just yet," said Dumbledore. "I would like the opportunity to reach Black before the Minister is alerted to any such information. If only we could reach out to him, have a neutral place to meet and hear what he has to say, without any fear of the Ministry catching wind of it."

"There might be way…to find Sirius," said Lupin.

"Enlighten me, Remus."

"Well, when James, Sirius, Peter and I were in school, we…we made a map of the school."

"A map?"

"An enchanted map," said Lupin clarifying, though he shifted his feet guiltily. "It shows the entire school, and a good portion of the grounds."

"I think I hardly need a map of the grounds or the castle," said Dumbledore skeptically.

"What about a map that showed where everyone was, at any time, inside Hogwarts or the grounds?"

"This map exists," asked Dumbledore, clearly curious now. "And forgive me, you, James, Sirius, and Peter created it?"

"Well, mostly Sirius and James, but I certainly had a hand or two in it. Peter didn't do any of the spell work, but a lot of his ideas were implemented."

"I see," said Dumbledore. "I take it this map was part of your group's prank efforts, yes?"

"Yes," admitted Lupin. "Our detentions lessened significantly after fifth year. There is no coincidence."

"And you still have this map?"

"No, unfortunately, Filch managed to confiscate it our seventh year. We never had the opportunity to take it back. Of course, Filch had no way of using it, but I think he suspected what it was. He may not have magic, but he's far cleverer than most would give him credit, I think."

"Indeed he is," said Dumbledore. "Very well, Remus, thank you. You have provided a great deal to ponder. Why not see if Mr. Filch still has your map and if we can put it to some use?"

"I will speak with him once I am well again," said Lupin. "Tomorrow is the full moon, after all."

"Excellent. Meanwhile, I will review the events that led to such a tragic ending," he added, pointing to the Pensieve. "And I think I may ask Harry for a more detailed account of his encounter with Sirius. Perhaps there is something there."

"I'm sure he would be happy to help you, headmaster," said Lupin with a faint smile.

"Very well," said Dumbledore, standing. "I will see you to the door." Just as Lupin stood from his seat, a knock came on the door.

"Enter," said Dumbledore loudly, his face once more lined with faint curiosity. The door opened and Madam Pompfrey stepped over the threshold.

"Poppy, what can I do for you this hour," asked Dumbledore.

"Nothing for me, headmaster," said the nurse quickly. "Miss Granger's parents requested an audience with you."

"I see," said the headmaster. "Let them in, if you would be so kind, Poppy?" The school nurse nodded and opened the door wide. Behind her and framed in the doorway stood William and Jane Granger, both with looks of wonder as their eyes darted from the many mystical items sitting on Dumbledore's tables and shelves.

Dumbledore quickly conjured a couple of comfortable chairs and strolled to the door to greet them.

"Come in, come in," he gestured. "What service do you need of me?"

"No service," said Jane, eyes still wide in awe. "We um…well…it's just…we wanted to talk about what happened at the game..."

"What my wife is trying to say, professor, is that we want to talk about Harry," said William. Jane gave him a grateful look.

"I see," said Dumbledore, who did not appear surprised in the least. "Very well, come, sit down and make yourselves home."


	16. The Greater Good

**Author Note: Hello. Thanks everyone for the reviews, messages, and kind words so far. Adjusting to fatherhood has been a blast, but, frankly, quite time consuming. For those inquiring about Hallows - updates are coming! Several chapters in the works. It is my hope I will have some of them ready by the end of the month. I will finish the story! Now, without further ado, here is the next chapter of Courage Rising.**

 **Chapter Sixteen: The Greater Good**

Professor Dumbledore quickly conjured a second chair to accommodate both of the Grangers. Professor Lupin bid a quick farewell to Dumbledore and the Grangers, closing the door to the headmaster's study behind him. The portraits of headmasters and mistresses past began to stir as the Grangers approached Dumbledore's desk, where the Pensieve remained, shimmering beneath the candlelight. One-by-one the portraits focused upon the unusual visitors, many of which eyed the Grangers with notable disapproval. This would hardly be surprising to those of the magical world as the Grangers were the second set of Muggles to have ever set foot not only in Hogwarts, but the headmaster's study since Myrtle's death fifty-one years ago. One portrait in particular appeared distraught. He was clever in appearance; his black, pointed beard was neatly trimmed and eloquent, and his eyes sharp and narrow.

"Muggles, in the headmaster's study no less," said the wizard silkily, his eyes darting from the unsure Grangers to the headmaster he fathomed least of all. "Not in my day," he added, his disdain dripping from his tongue. He then turned to view the portrait of Armando Dippet, which he eyed with considerable contempt. "This is your fault, you know."

"Phineas," said Dumbledore calmly, though the Grangers were quick to note the warning in the old wizard's voice. Ordinarily, Dumbledore had little trouble with his predecessors who disagreed with his methods or unpopular stances, but it quickly became apparent that Phineas could not let such an apparent offense to wizard tradition go unaddressed.

"Will you not be satisfied, Dumbledore, until you've trodden upon every tradition of wizard kind," he asked with a growl. "Will you consider it the greatest of all your numerous achievements when you have accomplished the eradication of every modicum of wizarding heritage and superiority to our inferior Muggle inhabitants or—"

"Phineas," said Dumbledore again, this time with his eyes lingering over the portrait dangerously.

"—is allowing Mudbloods into this prestigious school not accommodating enough of your magical brethren?"

Dumbledore was quick; with a swift flick of his wand, Phineas was silenced. His lips continued to move but his words went unheard. Once Phineas realized what Dumbledore had done, he offered the headmaster an obscene parting gesture of the hand and quickly departed from his portrait. Dumbledore closed his eyes and shook his head disappointedly before returning his attention to the Grangers, who had not yet taken their seats, looked wide-eyed upon the empty portrait and then nervously at the remaining portraits. While many silently agreed with Phineas, they would never be as brazen as to correct the headmaster in the presence of others, much less Muggles. Only Armando Dippet and the corpulent, red-nosed wizard appeared to show any sense of pride with their successor.

"Good show, Albus, good show," said Dippet, tipping his hat to Dumbledore. "About time you silenced that pretentious windbag. Pity we can't remove him indefinitely."

"Thank you, Armando," said Dumbledore calmly, but with a returned, thankful smile. Dumbledore felt wholly confident in his ability to remove the portrait, but saw little need—Phineas was hardly a threat. Dumbledore gestured to the empty chairs at his desk, encouraging the Grangers to sit down and waited for them to be seated before he spoke again.

"Would either of you care for refreshment," he asked politely. "Water, brandy, whine, or tea, perhaps?"

"Would you have any scotch," asked William, looking hopeful.

"Certainly," affirmed Dumbledore. He gave a casual flick of his wand toward the desk and a glass of scotch appeared before William. Dumbledore raised his eyebrows to Mrs. Granger, encouraging her to make a selection as well.

"A hot cup of tea for me, please," said Jane, eyes dancing with fascination as she watched the old wizard.

"What flavor of tea would you like?"

"Oh, my apologies," she said quickly. "Earl Grey, please."

"Wonderful choice," said Dumbledore, performing a second flick. An ornate and delicately decorated porcelain tea mug appeared before Jane, followed by a matching, steaming teapot. Dumbledore then flicked his wand a third time to fill his glass with another round of his favorite brandy before sitting down himself. He then looked hopeful at his candy dish, offering it to the Grangers.

"Lemon drop," he asked. Both Grangers shook their heads.

"Well, Mr. and Mrs. Granger, I trust you have found Hogwarts open and welcoming, thus far," began Dumbledore, giving no outward sign of disappointment. "Though, I must apologize for the rude outbursts from Phineas—as you will no doubt have figured out, non-magical folk such as yourselves are a rare sighting in Hogwarts. To be precise, you are only the second pair of parents who have ever crossed the threshold of the castle gates."

"Please, Mr. Dumbledore, it's just William and Jane," said William. "And we're quite glad to have been given the opportunity."

"It is a beautiful place," agreed Jane, her eyes darting about the headmaster's study now, taking in the collection of dusty books, strange instruments, and Fawkes. "I can hardly blame my daughter for wanting to spend so much time here. But I must admit I was a bit unsettled by the portrait."

"Phineas Nigellus Black," answered Dumbledore gravely. "He was the most unpopular headmaster in Hogwarts history and was well known for his outward aggression toward Muggle-borns—that is to say—students like your daughter. He drafted no less than two-hundred and thirty-six missives arguing for the immediate expulsion of Muggle-born students and the permanent exile of all existing Muggle-born from magical society."

"Something Hermione tells us you disagree with strongly," said William.

"Indeed I do," said Dumbledore, taking a sip of his brandy. "Being as advanced in age as I am, I have often found Muggle-borns to be our brightest and most gifted students. As they do not grow up in an environment that takes magic for granted, they are likewise not stymied by the usual preconceived limitations of our gift. As you already no doubt know, your daughter is the top of her year and could probably manage Acceptable or Exceeds Expectations grades on her O.W.L.s if she were to sit the exams today. Of course, by fifth year, I fully anticipate her scores to be Outstanding in most—if not all—her exams." Dumbledore finished and smiled widely and noted the very apparent looks of pride from her parents. "I must also add that Phineas was a product of his age and time—the wizarding world is changing, albeit slowly. Now, I daresay you are still in a state of confusion as to what happened during the afternoon Quidditch match, am I right?"

"We are," said William, holding his scotch firmly. "We don't understand what happened. And, well, we're concerned."

"What he means, professor," said Jane, her fingers tensing around her mug," is that we're concerned for Hermione, because she is concerned for Harry, which also makes us concerned for Harry."

"I understand," replied Dumbledore with a nod. "Harry, Miss. Granger, and young Mr. Weasley are a close knit of friends, as you already know. They share a unique friendship that has been forged thus far by significant obstacles and unforeseen occurrences in a very short period of time."

"Like Mountain Trolls and fifty-foot long snakes," offered William, still hardly believing Arthur's confirmation of what he thought were Hermione's outlandish tales.

"Sadly, yes," said Dumbledore. "Arthur tells me despite your daughter's fairly forthcoming relay of events, and our own correspondence last year regarding her petrification, they were largely taken as…for lack of a better term…a child's imagination run away."

"We certainly did," admitted Jane.

"Did Harry really kill a giant snake," asked William, who still did not want to believe it.

"He did indeed," said Dumbledore, standing. He reached behind his chair and gently lifted the Sword of Gryffindor from the display, holding it out for William. William, eyes wide and disbelieving, took it. It was a beautiful sword. The sword's namesake had been masterfully forged into the blade.

"He literally pulled this out of a hat," asked William again. "It just seems…well…in our world, hat tricks are a bit of a gag."

"I am afraid there is no gag trick that pulled _that_ sword from _that_ hat," the headmaster said, pointing to the Sorting hat on the shelf to his right. "The sword belonged to Godric Gryffindor, a founder of this very school over a thousand years ago. Quite a miraculous feat—the sword presents itself only to those who show remarkable courage in a great time of need. Combating a fifty foot Basilisk would qualify, I think." William returned the sword to Dumbledore, who placed it back on the display and took his seat once more.

"Arthur was right, wasn't he," said William, "—Harry's not a normal wizard, is he?"

"For a wizard, he is as _normal_ as they come," said Dumbledore, with a smile. "But he is an unusual human being."

"We don't understand," said Jane.

"You will," said Dumbledore, smiling, but did not elaborate any further.

"Can you explain to us what happened today," asked Jane.

"I shall do my best," said Dumbledore. "I understand that you are as aware of the Sirius Black situation as most of our society is?" Jane and William nodded. It was then that Jane's eyes hovered over the Pensieve end viewed the many shimmering images floating on the surface.

"Is that…" she said, pointing at one memory—the night Sirius announced he would be Secret Keeper.

"Yes," said Dumbledore, sadly, looking down and the Pensieve himself. "The man in glasses is none-other than James Potter, and the vibrant young woman beside him is Lily Potter—Harry's parents."

"They look so alike," said Jane. "But those eyes—"

"—Lily's," offered Dumbledore, frowning. "Like your daughter, Lily was Muggle-born—bright, clever, energetic, and possessed a fierce personality. Her Charm work was exceptional—she…she always reminded you of the beauty of magic, even when the times were dark. James was equally clever, an enthusiast of practical jokes, but most knew him to be a man of principle and conviction, always willing to stand at the mouth of a storm so others did not have to do so."

"And that's Mr. Lupin," said Jane, pointing. And then her eyes fell upon the man with shoulder length black hair, standing proudly beside James, his eyes intense and resolved.

"Sirius Black," said Dumbledore, heavily. "As you know he was incarcerated and sent to Azkaban without trial, where he has remained these past twelve years, ever since the downfall of Lord Voldemort. Until now, that is…" Dumbledore fell into a spell of silence, one that neither Jane nor William felt comfortable in breaking. The quiet was short lived, however, as Jane spoke again.

"Mr. Dumbledore, forgive me—and I'll understand if you don't feel you can answer this-I can't help but notice you refer to all your students by their surnames, but Harry—on the other hand—you regard more familiarly." Dumbledore smiled at Mrs. Granger and gave her a small nod before answering.

"All my students are important to me," said Dumbledore with a distant look. "And like Harry, there are more students than not that have suffered—been torn asunder—by Lord Voldemort's war. Many of those students had family members in the Ministry that were killed, tortured, or bewitched in the effort to stand against him. Some were members of the resistance organization I led against Lord Voldemort. Members—such as Harry's parents-that were once my students who ultimately gave their lives so that their children would not grow up in fear. As such, I knew Harry's parents well—very well—better than many of the numerous students who attended Hogwarts.

"Their loss," continued Dumbledore, "was devastating to many—as were others—but to me, more crushing than I could ever hope to make you understand. I hope you will forgive me as I do not wish to revisit those unhappy circumstances that led to their deaths, but I hope you will find it satisfactorily enough that I feel a special responsibility to Harry that I do not feel for other students, given the unique place in our society he holds due to the defeat of Lord Voldemort, the subsequent danger he remains in because of it, and the burdens he has already been forced to labor beneath."

Dumbledore looked down upon the Pensieve longingly. The image swirled on its own, responding to the headmaster's thoughts. He and the Grangers looked down and saw a weary Dumbledore, sitting on the sofa, next to James as appeared to show the headmaster a beautiful, silver cloak. They were talking, but as they had not entered the memory themselves, they could hear nothing. Lily entered the living room with Harry, struggling to be free of his mother's arms. They watched Dumbledore's weariness fade as his eyes lingered over the small child. Lily offered Harry to the headmaster, who took him into his arms. Young Harry pulled gently on the old wizard's beard and smiled broadly, revealing his incoming teeth. The headmaster broke into an equally wide smile as he held the little one. Professor Dumbledore quickly swirled the glassy surface with his wand and the Pensieve turn blank and reflective.

"Less than a week later, they were gone," said Dumbledore, his words soft and wounded as they floated into silence. Neither Jane nor William wanted to break the silence. They knew from that small insight just what Dumbledore had alluded to; the old wizard had been more than a professor to the couple.

"The reason Harry fell from his broom this afternoon is because of the Dementors," said Dumbledore, finally, returning to the Granger's inquiry. "They ordinarily guard the wizard prison that Sirius Black escaped from and are currently presiding as additional security over the castle grounds at the instance and authority of the Ministry of Magic," said Dumbledore disapprovingly. "The agreement I made with the Minister of Magic was violated this afternoon when the Dementors left their posts beyond the castle ground boundaries."

"But what are they," asked William. "And why couldn't we see them? It was clear you lot could."

"Hermione said they can force you to relive your worst moments," said Jane. "But we still don't really understand it. How can they make a child fall off his broom?"

"Dementors are among the foulest creatures that roam our world and their power over human kind is unsettling when gathered in mass," explained Dumbledore. "Miss. Granger is right; Dementors feed upon happiness—which is why they could not resist leaving their post during the match. An arena filled with exhilarated children would be as tempting a feast as any I can imagine. If a person is left long enough in their company, the Dementor will feed upon the individual—parasitic, almost—until they are devoid of every happy thought or memory, leaving them with the worst moments of their life—even if the memory is one they would not ordinarily be capable of recalling themselves, such as those of infancy."

"You mean that it's possible Harry was reliving the murder of his parents," asked Jane, looking slightly tearful.

"It is possible," acknowledged Dumbledore. "I would say very likely, though he has not to my knowledge, confided in anyone. It is not his first encounter with them, but certainly the worst thus far."

"Dear, do you think that's why Hermione was hinting at," asked William. "That he was reliving his parent's murder?"

"I think she wanted to tell us but thought better of it. She's fond of Harry—we both know it—she wouldn't share something that personal."

"I myself have noticed Miss. Granger to be more protective of Harry since the start of term," said Dumbledore, allowing himself a small smile. The Grangers also noted the strange glimmer of his eyes. "I would not be surprised if she too does not suspect that is the nature of Harry's encounter with the Dementors, even if Harry has not confided such to her."

"Do you have a picture of a Dementor we could see," asked William.

"I have something far more useful," said Dumbledore, stirring the Pensieve with the tip of his wand. The glassy surface swirled and then rippled as the horrific events of the afternoon formed upon the now still surface of the Pensieve. With horror, Jane and William watched the mass of hooded figures glide through the air, chasing Harry as he fell through the sky toward the ground below. Jane nearly jumped from her chair as she saw one of the Dementors reach toward Harry's unconscious body with a skeletal hand.

"Yes," said Dumbledore again, watching the Granger's reactions, "most foul indeed."

"And your Ministry thought it wise to guard a school of children with…with those," said Jane disbelievingly.

"More like pressured to be seen acting upon the threat of Sirius Black," said Dumbledore. "Most of our society forgets that Dementors once paid allegiance to Lord Voldemort. They sleep soundly in their beds at night under a false sense of security. Alas, I am one man—an old one at that—and despite the numerous positions I hold in our society, I cannot persuade my ministry friends to see the error of this policy, nor do I have the authority to overrule the Minister of Magic or the Wizengamot."

"Mr. Dumbledore, Hermione has, in the past, hinted that Harry is no stranger to dangerous events," said Jane. "In fact—whether she knows it or not—she has given us the impression that she genuinely fears for his life at times. We understand he has a dangerous history, and we even understand there are still those at large who might want to cause him harm, but is he really in significant danger?"

"Sadly, few understand the danger Harry is in," said Dumbledore, cautiously. "Understand, please, that it is not my wish to deliberately conceal Harry's dangers from you; you have a daughter who is a stalwart and loyal friend as any he could possibly hope to have—naturally, you wish to know more. I am afraid I must disappoint you in that I cannot give you those details. But know this; Lord Voldemort was not completely defeated the night of Halloween. He is very much alive, deep in hiding, weak and devoid of much of his powers, waiting to gather his strength once more. Exactly where he is or when he will make a second attempt for power, I do not know. It could be decades, it could be tomorrow. He has certainly attempted to regain his power since then. Should he return to his former strength, Harry will be in more danger than any single living person on this earth. I tell you this not to worry you, but to prepare you. I feel I can say with complete confidence, that any danger Harry may face in the future, it is likely your daughter will be there beside him. She has already proven such. You may even feel a strong desire to remove her from such a potentially dangerous situation. I hope this is not the case."

"We would be lying if we said we hadn't given it serious consideration after the summer holiday," said William. "Discovering what our daughter told us was not the symptoms of a runaway imagination were sobering to say the least. We understand the wizard who killed Harry's parents is what we would call a terrorist—an alarmingly increasing threat we face ourselves. We understand the danger is no different here than if she were in our world facing our society's dangers. Somehow magic seems to make that threat comparatively worse, despite weapons existing in our world capable of destroying an entire landscape—countries even."

"Wisely said," nodded Dumbledore. "I remember when America dropped the first atomic bomb over Japan, not to mention the other destructive forces that revealed themselves during the war. It quickly reaffirmed to wizard-kind why the Statute of Secrecy exists; the mutual protection of our societies. Am I to understand then, that it is not your wish to remove Miss. Granger from Hogwarts?"

"We could never ask her to leave," said Jane. "She loves this place. She loves her gift. She has found where she belongs and she would hate us for tearing that away from her. And we could not separate her from either of her two best friends. They mean everything to her—particularly Harry."

"I am relieved to hear it," said Dumbledore.

"But we would like to be more involved with Hermione's time here," said Jane. "We understand we're being given a special privilege just to walk these halls—we don't expect any more in the future. And we don't want our presence here to cause problems for Hermione. What we do expect is simply awareness. We need to know what is happening in our daughter's life." Dumbledore smiled at the Grangers; here was the glimmer of a hopeful future—a day when Muggles and Wizard-kind might finally understand each other and live in peace—two worlds recognized as one. Dumbledore gave his word to keep the Grangers as informed as the law would permit, with a promise that this would not be the last time they visited Hogwarts. As the Grangers departed from the headmaster's study, Dumbledore smiled again.

"You see how wrong we were, Gellert," said Dumbledore wistfully. "Two worlds reconciled; that was the greater good. War was never the answer—just a little patience and a desire to understand."


	17. The Headmaster's Burden

**Chapter Seventeen: The Headmaster's Burden**

As the students settled in for the night and the lights throughout the castle extinguished, Albus Dumbledore was still wide awake. His elbows rested upon his desk with both hands interlocked, his eyes staring distantly through the study windows. There were a multitude of things on his mind; Sirius Black, Remus Lupin, sporadic and brief liminal moments from the last war, the Grangers, Harry Potter, Dementors, and most ominously, the destroyed diary of Tom Riddle.

Dumbledore slid open the top drawer of his desk and retrieved the damaged, red leather-bound book and placed it in front of him. There was no longer any trace of magic remaining in the pages. All that Dumbledore could sense after weeks of careful study was a remnant of magical essence—dark essence. This was nothing unexpected, of course, having once belonged to Tom Riddle.

No, what made Dumbledore uneasy was the phenomenon Harry had described; he had _never_ heard of a mere memory capable of orchestrating such a calamity as the re-opening of the Chamber of Secrets. Furthermore, he was quite certain a memory did not have the ability to possess a living person. An uncomfortable chill ran down Dumbledore's neck.

Ever since he had laid eyes upon the scar on Harry's head, Dumbledore was certain Lord Voldemort had not died. The prophecy had not foretold Voldemort's defeat upon the first encounter, but rather, that Lord Voldemort would _mark him as his equal_. Dumbledore also suspected the curse scar was the manifestation of a deep, magical connection linking Harry and Voldemort upon the failure of the attack, with repercussions unknown at the time. His suspicion was proven when Harry's ability to speak with snakes was revealed during the dueling club—once again demonstrating his equal footing with Lord Voldemort. The prophecy furthermore indicated a future encounter, a lingering conflict; _neither could live while the other survives_. It was clear to Dumbledore, then, that both Harry's and Lord Voldemort's futures were inexplicably intertwined at the deepest levels of magic—known and unknown. For as far as Dumbledore knew, no two wizards had ever been as connected as Harry and Lord Voldemort.

It was equally evident that Tom—now Lord Voldemort—had undergone many magical transformations. The precise nature of them, he did not know. Dumbledore readily admitted the Dark Lord's knowledge of the Dark Arts were far more…intimate than his own. What he did know was the desire for immortality had long fascinated the minds of witches and wizards, from one continent to the next. For Lord Voldemort, it was obsession—an obsession the very young Tom Riddle had inadvertently admitted to the headmaster more than fifty years ago during their first meeting one another. And there were more ways than one to achieve a life as close to immortality as was possible. None of them—even the Sorcerer's Stone—were natural. And if there was one thing Dumbledore knew about magic that most of his colleagues would overlook for the entirety of their lives—the one thing that made Dumbledore the wizard he was today—was that magic existed at a level far beyond human understanding, intertwined itself into the very fabric of life, and expressed its will at critical, decisive points in history.

Prophecy—true prophecy—was one such outlet for this stream of magic consciousness. Dumbledore firmly believed—though no magic readily available at his fingertips would ever prove such steadfast belief—that the natural undercurrents of magic did not long tolerate the unnatural manipulation of those such as life and death. Then again, Dumbledore believed in a large number of magical lore most believed to be children's tales—and he had learned the hard way that there were certain kinds of magic one should never attempt to manipulate or control, much less even pursue. Through prophecy, Voldemort's first defeat was arranged while simultaneously creating his most dangerous adversary; Harry. Of course, Lily had a part in that too.

His mind wandered at the thought of Lily.

 _Have you heard her voice, Harry?_

Dumbledore shook his head—Dementors made for unpleasant thoughts indeed.

He needed to focus.

Was Voldemort's survival solely due to his acting upon the prophecy—that his fate would one day rest upon the shoulders of a child? Lily's child?

Harry…

Dumbledore closed his eyes and fought the burning sensation behind his eyelids.

 _How do I lay such a burden at the feet of a thirteen year old boy? It would be cruel._

"Troubled thoughts, Albus?"

Dumbledore looked over his shoulder, his eyes meeting the downward gaze of Armando Dippet.

"Merely reflective, Armando," said Dumbledore with a sad smile.

"The boy is on your mind again, isn't he?"

"Several things are on my mind, Armando, several things."

"Classic deflection, my friend—but the boy is undoubtedly on your mind—he's been the focus of your thoughts for nearly thirteen years."

"Is it wrong to show a bit of extra care for an orphaned child?"

"Not at all; it is natural and good to be concerned for one's charges—particularly the orphaned—but you, my friend, are falling into the trap."

"Trap?"

"Yes," said Armando knowingly. "The same trap that inevitably ensnares all the fools in the world that love; you are blinded, Albus. The answers you seek are not complicated at all. That is why they are difficult for you—they are too easy!"

"I wish it were simple, Armando," replied Dumbledore, returning his gaze to the ruined diary. Armando recognized his dismissal and promptly fell asleep. Dumbledore held the ruined diary up to the candlelight and refocused his thoughts; if prophecy was indeed an outlet of magical consciousness, what precluded the need for the prophecy?

 _The threshold was eclipsed,_ thought Dumbledore to himself. Yes, Tom must have indeed _pushed the boundaries of magic further than they have ever been pushed_ … That is what Voldemort had told him so many years ago. But what boundaries had he stressed? Unnatural magic, certainly—but there were several branches of magic that would tempt a wizard such as Lord Voldemort—the question was _which_ of Voldemort's heinous acts had acted as catalyst for the prophecy?

…Transformations…

The word was sharp in his mind.

Dumbledore stood and began pacing around his desk. He stroked his beard once, shook his head, closed his eyes and sighed. He stood at his study window for the umpteenth time, his hands outstretched and resting on the cold stone of the windowsill, looking out over the night-cloaked mountains. His eyes went out of focus for a moment as the memory of Riddle's interview materialized on the window pane. He remembered the discolored skin. He remembered the blood-shot eyes. He remembered the sharp change in his voice.

Was it possible? If true, it only raised more questions and gave him great cause for concern. He turned from the window and approached one of the many bookshelves behind his desk, running his fingers along several dusty books. Finally, his hand rested upon a worn, black, leather-bound tome: _Secrets of the Darkest Art_.

"Surely not, Tom, surely not," he said feebly, pulling the book from the shelf. He returned to his chair and opened the book he had long removed from the school library. He quickly thumbed through several chunks of pages. He would pause at certain points, briefly read a heading or two, sometimes the first paragraph before shaking his head in disgust and turning to another section. Several times Dumbledore did this until he found what he was looking for:

 ** _HORCRUXES_**

 _Many false paths lay before the witch or wizard who seeks immortality. For the earnest seeker, there is but one method to achieve un-ending life. The creation of a Horcrux is a painful, dangerous path, but the reward is equally potent. By the willful division of the soul, a witch or wizard can encase the discarded soul fragment inside a container, thus binding it to the earth, for as long as the container remains guarded and safe. Even if the witch or wizard's body is destroyed, they will remain earthbound, for their soul remains tethered to the world of the living._

 _Take heed: the soul is the very essence of life—the manifested expression of the natural order; to split it is anguish beyond description. In addition, the creation of the Horcrux will, in some cases, cause great physiological transformation, possibly resulting in: dis-figuration, discoloration of the skin, and the potential loss of nerve-reflex stimulation. Symptoms have been noted to vary from witch to witch, or wizard to wizard, with some cases reportedly showing no outward signs of physiological change. Most prominent—and guaranteed, however, is the degradation of one's emotional capacity and stability. In summary, the one who successfully creates the Horcrux may live a thousand lifetimes, but they will cease to be as they are._

 _The creation of the Horcrux involves several components, namely:_

Dumbledore skimmed further, wincing noticeably as his eyes drifted over the requirements necessary to create a Horcrux. He reached over and took hold of the ruined diary once more, eyeing the tattered pages as though he were seeing them for their true nature for the first time.

"Is this what you have done, Tom," he asked aloud. He dropped the diary on the desk and rubbed the sides of his temple, his eyes closed as he reflected further…

It was a cold winter night.

Tom and his… _friends_ —as he called them —arrived at the Hogs Head Inn.

Ten years had passed since Dumbledore had last seen Tom Riddle. Ten years since Tom Riddle vanished without a whisper.

Rumors had reached Dumbledore during that long absence. Whispered words surfaced of a magically powerful individual who sought a revolution—the liberation of wizard kind through purification. Furthermore, the individual had undergone dangerous magical transformations to become as powerful as he had. There were even rumors this powerful individual could not be killed. Dumbledore had not wanted to believe the rumors, partly because he did not want to relive a war that had already been fought, and mostly, because he thought he knew _who_ that individual was and wanted desperately to be wrong.

Dumbledore remembered the almost-burned-like quality of his skin—much like melted wax—and the distorted and incredibly pale pigmentation. The eyes were more than bloodshot—the whites of his eyes were blood-red. His fingers were long and skeletal. Ten years was all it took for any trace of the once handsome Tom Riddle to disappear completely. Tom had changed: an aura of Dark Magic was present with him and there could be little doubt that at least some of the rumors regarding his experimentation were true. And there was little doubt that immortality would have appealed greatly to a wizard like Voldemort, just as they would have appealed to Tom Riddle.

Dumbledore knew they were one in the same—Voldemort and Tom Riddle—but to him, it seemed essential to understand them separately as well. To understand the boy Tom Riddle was to understand the man Lord Voldemort.

 _Yes_ , thought Dumbledore, _you certainly experimented_. Dumbledore opened his eyes and stared at the opposing wall. _But if this_ —he thought, picking up the diary once more— _was indeed a Horcrux, why so careless?_ The diary after all had worked as it was intended; it had been the key to re-opening the Chamber of Secrets. Dumbledore shook his head. He could not imagine Lord Voldemort carelessly entrusting a Death Eater with the safe guarding of a portion of his soul.

"Unless," said Dumbledore quietly, "but no, surely not, Tom." He looked down once more upon the diary. Dumbledore closed his eyes again, remembering the ghostly visage of the Dark Lord vanish through the stone walls of the underground chamber where the Sorcerer's Stone had been kept. Dumbledore's eyes opened wide this time, fearful.

"Unless you made more than one," said Dumbledore, his voice rising to barely a whisper. The Prophecy mentioned nothing of divided souls, or an immortal Dark Lord. And yet, a theme of immortality could not be ignored. The prophecy implied the Dark Lord _could_ be destroyed—chosen by the Dark Lord himself, no less—meaning quite possibly that Voldemort could live on had he either not acted upon the prophecy or that the one pre-destined did not act upon the prophecy; that too was a possibility.

 _But to prove it_ , thought Dumbledore skeptically. His hands clasped together again upon his desk. Assuming the diary was indeed a Horcrux, it was evident that Lucius Malfoy did not know its true nature and thus, used it for his own purposes. And why should Malfoy have known? Voldemort relied upon and trusted no one.

Dumbledore sat in his chair for several minutes, his thoughts jumping from one memory instance to another, trying to link what now appeared to him as disjointed jigsaw pieces. But when the flood of thoughts proved overwhelming even for his well-organized mind, Dumbledore retrieved his Pensieve and poured those thoughts into the stone basin. It was like a fire had lit in the pit of his stomach—a slow and steady flame—a flame he knew would not be quenched this night, but perhaps, over the course of the coming months, or years, if need be. His eyes drifted over the diary once more.

 _I will not fail you, Harry_.


	18. Hermione's Battle

**Hello all. Got a few changes in today's update. We're starting to set the stage for some significant changes to established canon. Enjoy.**

 **Chapter Eighteen: Hermione's Battle**

Hermione rapped on the office door. She tapped her foot restlessly. It was still early, and Harry was unlikely to be awake yet. She likewise knew that Professor Lupin had not looked well last night, but she could no longer wait. Harry could have died last night, or at the very least, been severely injured. She glanced down at her watch and tapped impatiently again. More than a minute passed by before Hermione heard the door handle creak and move downward.

"Hermione, I wasn't expecting you this morning," said Professor Lupin, his voice faint and raspy. He was paler than ever and the bright light of the hall made him squint painfully.

"I'm sorry, professor, but I needed to speak to you," said Hermione quickly. "I won't take too long," she added hastily.

"Very well, come in," said Lupin, opening the door wide. He stepped to the side and gestured for Hermione to step into the office.

"Thank you," she said. "I do hope you feel better soon."

"By week's end, I shall be as good as I ever was," said Lupin with a weak but genuine smile. He gestured once more to the small table and took his own seat. Hermione sat down quickly, folding her hands together atop the table.

"So, what can I do for you, Hermione?"

"I wanted to talk about last night," she said.

"I see," he said with a polite nod.

"I wanted to say thank you, for helping Harry."

"That is quite unnecessary—I am a teacher after all. It is my responsibility to protect _any_ student from harm."

"None of the other teachers were running onto the fields."

"Hermione, I only reacted as quickly as I did because of what you did."

"But shouldn't the other teachers have helped, once it became obvious there was trouble?"

"I'm sure you realized that I was hardly the lone protector, Hermione," argued Lupin.

"You mean the other Patronuses?"

"Indeed," he said with a small smile. "Five points to Gryffindor. I see you did your research. As I was saying, however, I was hardly the lone protector. You might not have noticed—understandable, given your focus was undoubtedly on Harry—but several teachers were working very diligently to protect _all_ of the students. Madam Hooch, for instance, quickly grounded all the players to avoid anyone else from falling off their brooms. Granted, Hufflepuff had already caught the Snitch, ending the game. Had that not been the case, the match would have ended regardless.

"Professor Dumbledore, of course," continued Lupin, "is solely responsible for Harry only sustaining minor injuries. In addition, it was he who actually protected the students by forcing the Dementors to return to their posts. As to why other teachers were not directly involved, it is a simple matter of procedure. As you're Muggleborn, I'm sure you are familiar with the phrase, _too many chefs in the kitchen_?"

Hermione nodded her understanding, though she now looked at her feet, feeling guilty for her insinuation. Lupin appeared to have understood, since he placed a hand on her shoulder and said: "Nothing to feel bad about, Hermione; like I said, you were obviously concerned about Harry, and to you, it probably looked like our response wasn't as good as it should have been. Given what has happened in the past, I can understand that. And you're right; we haven't protected him as well as we would have liked."

Hermione looked up, surprised by the professor's admission.

"Dumbledore had told me all about your last two years here," said Lupin. "I wasn't lying to you back on the train, you know. I'm sure you saw how angry Dumbledore was when the Dementors came onto the field. He was angry with them to be certain, but most of that anger was toward himself."

"Why," asked Hermione. "It wasn't like Dumbledore invited them."

"It's not really my place to say," said Lupin, sadly, "nor would I presume to know for certain, but I suspect—like me—he often feels like he's failed Harry. He's the headmaster of the most prestigious school of witchcraft and wizardry in the world, regarded as the most accomplished and powerful wizard of our age. And yet, you, Harry, and Ron have found yourselves in precarious and dangerous situations no student should ever be faced with. Believe me, Hermione, he feels the weight."

"I guess I've never thought of it that way," admitted Hermione.

"It isn't something you should have to think about in the first place," said Lupin. "You should only have to think about your studies and acting like teenagers and the responsibilities that come along with that, rather than the responsibilities that come with being an adult. You'll have plenty of time for that soon enough."

"Who did the dog Patronus belong to," asked Hermione, realizing that Lupin had failed to mention which teacher had conjured it. She was surprised to find that Lupin's eyebrows had lifted into his hairline and his cheeks had turned—if possible—paler than before.

"I am…unsure," said Lupin quietly. "It was not a teacher, however."

"Could it have been a student?"

"Possible, but unlikely," said Lupin. He had regained his composure but looked as though the effort had cost him dearly.

"I read it's a difficult charm," said Hermione, realizing that Lupin was not going to elaborate.

"Very," confirmed Lupin. "The concept is simple enough, but...well, let's just say there are few students who would be capable of performing a corporeal Patronus. Currently, less than five percent of my seventh year students are able to produce anything more than a vapor cloud."

"Harry could do it," said Hermione.

Lupin gave her an apologetic smile. He now knew the reason for Hermione's unannounced visit.

"The true Patronus requires a witch or wizard with impeccable willpower and a disciplined mind. Furthermore, there is a very good reason why the Patronus Charm is taught _after_ you've taken your O.W.L. exams."

"But Harry needs something," said Hermione.

"I do not doubt his commitment, Hermione," said Lupin quickly, "Sometimes a desire to do something isn't enough. "

Hermione gave him a confused look.

"Despite my ability to produce a corporeal Patronus, I'm sure you noticed how…weak it appeared? How I was unable to drive any of the Dementors away? Believe me; I wanted with all my strength to drive them away and protect Harry. But my desire, my will, my intention, was not enough. And the more there are, the more difficult it is to produce a corporeal Patronus.

"And yet," continued Remus, "a wizard like Dumbledore was able to drive away not only the horde that descended upon Harry, but those gathered above as well. There is magic that cannot be compensated purely by the amount of knowledge one possess. The corporeal Patronus—the only defense a wizard truly has against a Dementor—is one such charm. I'm sorry, Hermione, but the charm is simply too advanced for a third year. It wouldn't be appropriate."

 **() () ()**

"You're awake, finally," said Hermione as she took Harry's glasses and set them gently on the bridge of his nose. Harry squinted several times. The morning sun shinned brightly through the windows, bathing the ward in brilliant light. He moved himself into a sitting position, wincing as a sharp jolt of pain pulsed from his lower back.

"Careful," said Hermione. "Madam Pomfrey says you've bruised some, but nothing's broken, thankfully."

"Good," said Harry with a weak voice.

"How do you feel?"

"Disoriented," he said. "And…cold," he added, pulling the bed covers up.

"Here," said Hermione, waving her wand over the bed. In moments, Harry could feel comfortable warmth on his sheets and inside the blanket. She then pointed to the bedside table. "Madam Pompfrey left you some chocolate as well."

"Thanks," said Harry appreciatively. "What time is it?"

"It's a quarter past nine," answered Hermione. "Mum and dad were finishing breakfast when I left the hall, so they should be up shortly."

"What happened," he asked.

"You fell, Harry," said Hermione softly.

"That explains the bruising," said Harry. "I must have made it closer to the ground before I fell, if all I got were some bruises. All because of a few Dementors…"

"No, Harry, you fell over a hundred feet from the ground."

"But—"

"Everything happened so fast," said Hermione quickly. "And it was more than a few Dementors." She then rehearsed last night's events with him.

"He was so angry, Harry," said Hermione. "I've never seen him like that. I know Dumbledore is a great wizard, but…Harry I could see it in his eyes. I was…I don't know how to say it…I knew he'd protect you, but I was terrified too. The other Patronuses were only keeping the Dementors at bay. Dumbledore's Patronus wasn't silvery like Professor Lupin's; it was white, and strong enough to send them away."

"What's this Patronus you keep talking about, Hermione?"

"It's an advanced charm that can repel a Dementor," she said. "It's a conjured guardian that stands between you and the Dementor. It takes the form of an animal that is representative of the person who casts the spell. I've read about them after your encounter with the Boggart. It's not an easy charm; few wizards or witches are capable of producing an authentic one as I understand it." She then explained each Patronus that had played part in Harry's protection.

"I see," said Harry. He didn't say anything further, his thoughts drifting to his mother's pleading. When he tried to push his mind onto something else, he thought of the Quidditch match and what his falling likely meant for Gryffindor.

"We lost the match, didn't we," asked Harry.

"It wasn't your fault, Harry. The Dementors weren't supposed to be there."

"I heard her again, Hermione."

"Your mum?"

"Yeah," said Harry, his breath catching in his throat.

Hermione reached forward and placed her hand over the blanket where she knew one of Harry's hands would be.

"I heard him too…Voldemort," said Harry, his eyes drifting down into his blanket where Hermione's hand rested. "She…she asked him not to do it. She begged him not to do it." He looked up only to find Hermione's eyes watery, catching a sliver of the sunlight. Before she could say anything, however, the hospital ward doors opened with long creak. Both Grangers entered the ward and appeared in good spirits. Madam Pompfrey followed in behind them. Harry watched Hermione subtly wipe her eyes as Jane came up behind her and placed both hands on her shoulders. William stood nearby, but his eyes looked through the window and over the castle grounds.

"It's good to see you awake, Harry dear," said Jane with a smile. "You gave us quite the fright. Hermione had practically fallen asleep at your bedside." Harry stole a glance to Hermione, finding her cheeks slightly red as she looked down at her feet.

"I was just tired is all," mumbled Hermione. "I didn't want to go to bed until you got back."

"Of course, dear," said Jane with a smile.

"I'm sorry your first Quidditch match ended the way it did," said Harry.

"Not at all," said William, moving away from the window. "It was every bit as exciting as you described at the ice cream shop, Harry. You're wellbeing though, is what's most important."

"Speaking of falling off my broom," said Harry, suddenly, "did anyone collect my Nimbus?"

Hermione looked at him sadly.

"Where's my broom," asked Harry.

"Harry, when you fell, your broom was blown away in the wind," said Hermione. She took a deep breath and said the next sentence quickly. "It hit the Whomping Willow."

Harry closed his eyes and mentally prepared himself before asking, "what happened?"

"It was pretty broken up, Harry," said Hermione apologetically. "Madam Hooch and Professor Flitwick attempted to repair it, but brooms aren't meant to sustain that sort of damage. They managed to get it back into shape eventually, but…it won't ever fly again."

"McGonagall won't be happy," said Harry, forcing words from his mouth.

"Why would she be upset, dear," asked Jane.

"She's the one who put me on the team as a first year," explained Harry. "And I'm pretty sure she was the one who bought my Nimbus."

"I'm sure she values your safety far more than a broomstick, Harry," said Hermione.

It was the noon hour when Madam Pompfrey discharged Harry from the hospital, but only after consuming a foul-tasting concoction that would reduce the swelling of his bruises. Together with Ron and Hermione, they enjoyed a final lunch with the Grangers in the Great Hall.

"That Diggory bloke isn't half as bad as I thought he was," said Fred

"What do you mean," asked Harry.

"Everyone knows he's the pretty boy with a promising future," said George while Fred rolled his eyes. "I'd wager Head Boy next year."

"Point is, we thought he'd be the same mold as our most esteemed brother, Percy," continued George. "But he's alright."

"Diggory caught the Snitch after you fell," explained Ron. "When he realized what happened, well, he said it wasn't fair and wanted a rematch."

"That doesn't make any sense," said Harry flatly. "He caught it fair and square if that's the case. I fell off my broom, he didn't."

"We know, but the gesture makes him alright in my book," said Fred.

"How is Wood taking it?"

"Still in the showers when I went down for breakfast," said George. "Probably still there, trying to drown himself."

"Pointless, mind you," said Fred. "If he wanted to drown, he'd have done better to plant his moping face in the Quidditch pitch after the match ended. The ground is saturated with massive puddles."

"That seems a bit dramatic," said Hermione.

"Is Quidditch taken that seriously around here," asked Jane with a horrified expression. Ron looked equally stunned, but only at the revelation that someone in the world did not take Quidditch seriously at all.

"You don't know Oli," said Fred, shaking his head. "But don't worry, give him a day or two to sort things out and—"

"—drain the water from his ears—"

"—and dream up a training regimen worse than the last one—"

"—and he'll be right as rain."

However, Harry found his eyes wandering to the other house tables when he was not otherwise engaged with the group. Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff students appeared to be indifferent, if not somewhat unsure of what to make of the Granger's stay at Hogwarts. Slytherin, on the other hand, was not so subtle with their disapproval. Particularly noteworthy was the scowl and obvious disgust on Draco's face. Harry was now confident he was not Draco's least favorite person in the castle at that moment, which bothered him a great deal. He also noticed from the corner of his eye that Hermione was likewise noticing Malfoy's contemptuous glares and shifted uncomfortably in her seat.

At the conclusion of lunch, Professor Dumbledore politely reminded the Grangers that it was time to be on their way. Within the same hour, both Grangers hugged and kissed Hermione as they said their goodbyes at the castle doors. Jane likewise hugged Harry and kissed him on the forehead, which left Harry feeling very strange. The headmaster waited patiently for them with a thick black traveling cloak tucked beneath his arm and a chipped tea kettle grasped gently in his hand. Harry watched Jane lean in to her daughter's ear and appeared to whisper something, to which Hermione turned bright red but nodded. A second round of hugs and kisses later, the Grangers departed with Dumbledore, leaving Harry and Hermione to return to the Gryffindor Common Room.

"Thank you, Harry," said Hermione as they entered the portrait hole. "You have no idea what it means to me that my parents were finally able to see where I spend all my time away from them."

"I think Dumbledore is the one who deserves the credit," said Harry.

"It was still your idea and I really appreciate it," insisted Hermione. "Now, I think we should look over our Runes work before bed."

"Right," said Harry with a deflated voice, "homework. I'd almost forgotten."

The first part of the week was difficult for Harry; Draco and his Slytherin cohorts were beside themselves with glee and took every opportunity to remind Harry of his Dementor frailty. Likewise, Snape was in a foul mood during potions, who, despite having one of the better Calming Draughts potions in the class, (which Harry would happily admit was not the shade of yellow described in his textbook), spent the remaining half of the lesson describing in excruciating detail where Harry had gone wrong.

"Do you think I write brewing instructions for my health, Potter," asked Snape with a curled lip. "Do my instructions not plainly communicate the importance of adding the Fluxweed Oil _only_ after waiting a _full_ ten minutes _after_ the Bloodroot Stems begin to boil? Or did you believe my instruction lacking as to the proper procedure for adequately cooling the mixture until it reached the described thickness? Which is it, Potter?"

"Sorry, Professor, my mind was on other things, I guess," said Harry, sincerely apologetic.

"Clearly," said Snape with a dangerous glare. "My apologies, Potter, for disturbing your wayward thoughts. I only wonder what you think should happen if your mind wanders while we are brewing a more sensitive, unstable recipe in the future?"

"I reckon you're about to tell me," said Harry, unable to hold his tongue.

"How very much like your father you are," said Snape, his dark eyes glinting menacingly. "Like you, he couldn't be bothered to consider how his actions might impact those around him." The professor turned on his heels as the class ended.

"Twenty points from Gryffindor for your lack of focus and arrogance, Potter," said Snape from his desk. "I expect you more attentive next class." Harry nodded, turned to walk out of the classroom, but before he had stepped through the doorway, Snape added: "to be clear, Potter, your draught failed because you did not wait the full ten minutes before adding the Bloodroot. Had it been a temperature issue, your draught would have emitted a foul odor, as your text clearly states. You're excused."

"Don't let him get to you, Harry," said Hermione over lunch. "You are doing so much better. He was waiting for you to slip up."

"Yeah, I know."

"At least he didn't make you drink it," said Ron with a grimace. He was still quite cross with Snape over the Pepperup Potion.

"I think he's holding out for when we start brewing poisons," said Harry. "If I get it wrong, chances are it would still kill me."

"He wouldn't," said Hermione, though her eyes had gone wide.

Harry caught a glance with Ron and knew they were thinking the same thing: he would.

Still, Harry's troubles with Snape were insignificant to the newfound attention Hermione was receiving since her parent's departing. True to Dumbledore's prophetic warning, the school body had turned a cold shoulder to Hermione.

"Couldn't stop yourself, could you, Granger," asked Malfoy as he strutted by in the corridor as he and Hermione made their way to Ancient Runes. Crab and Goyle stood on either side of him, each offering their own lopsided grins. "Had to bring your filth into the castle, didn't you?"

"Shove off, Malfoy," said Harry, urging Hermione forward.

"Bet it was your idea, wasn't it, Potter?"

"So what if it was?"

"I get it," said Malfoy, whispering. "You just wanted to see what it might have been like to have _your_ mum watch _your_ game. Seeing as she's dead, Granger's mum was a good substitute."

This time Hermione grabbed Harry by the arm and drug him away from Malfoy.

Slytherin's treatment, though, had been expected, given their pureblood creed. Harry had even suspected students from other houses might frown on Hermione's grand experiment, but it was the treatment she received from several Gryffindor students that bothered him most.

"Do you realize what you've done, Granger," asked McLaggen, a fourth year in Gryffindor. "Now everyone is looking at Gryffindor like we've taken a shite on the magical world. Happy, are you?"

Harry had very few previous encounters with the older student, but he knew now without a doubt, he didn't like Cormac. He wanted to punch the idiot oaf square in the jaw, but Fred and George had been in the vicinity and decided their year-mate needed _talking_ to, and proceeded by taking McLaggen by both arms and through the portrait hole. When the twins returned empty ended some time later, they simply whistled in unison as they returned to their dorm room, giving Harry and Hermione a very unsubtle pair of winks. They didn't see McLaggen for the remainder of the evening.

"I don't understand it," said Hermione, Wednesday night. "Is it really that horrible my parents came to Hogwarts? Is it?"

"I warned you," said Ron as he hastily scribbled on his Divination homework.

"Thank you for your support, Ronald," said Hermione harshly.

"I'm on your side, remember," said Ron, admiring his handywork. "Doesn't mean I won't say I told you so."

"It'll get better," said Harry. "Remember last year when everyone thought I was the heir of Slytherin? It only lasted a while."

"Finding the long lost sword of Gryffindor might have had something to do with that," said Hermione. "Not to mention the slaying of a fifty foot Basalisk."

"Maybe," said Harry. "But you'll see. Eventually the school will find something new to talk about."

Harry had looked forward to Thursday for their Defense Against the Dark Arts class, for several reasons. One, it was his favorite class. Two, it would be welcome refuge from the rest of the school. And three, he fully intended to ask Professor Lupin about the Patronus Charm. However, when he walked into class expecting Professor Lupin, he met the black, glinting eyes of Professor Snape instead.

"Do you have something to say, Potter," asked Snape from the other side of Lupin's desk. "Or do you ordinarily attend this class while standing in the middle of the aisle?

"No, sir," said Harry quickly, finding his voice. He quickly took a seat next to Hermione and in front of Ron. "Where is Professor Lupin?"

"He is indisposed," said Snape, his eyes flashing dangerously.

"Is something wrong," asked Harry.

"Obviously," said Snape, tilting his head to the side, his voice dropping to hardly more than a whisper. "Potter, I assure you, I did not ask for the happy privilege of seeing you more than I am already obligated to. Therefore, I think it is safe to assume that your professor is unable to teach at the moment.

"Now," continued Snape, looking over Lupin's desk with a scrutinizing eye, "let's see what Professor Lupin had prepared for today's lesson, shall we?" He sifted through papers without concern where the stacks of parchment ended up, his sneer growing with each pile he rummaged through.

"It would appear that Professor Lupin has left no direction for today's class, nor relayed which subjects you have already touched upon." Immediately, Hermione's arm shot up into the air. Professor Snape saw this but ignored her.

"As I've no record to refer to, I must use my best judgement as to which topic we cover for today's lesson," he said with a slim smile. Hermione continued to hold her arm in the air.

"I trust Professor Lupin has at least set the expectation that you bring your textbook to class," Professor Snape asked the class. No one answered him, nor did they reach for a text book. Professor Lupin had taught every class without the textbook, referring to it only when homework was assigned.

"Evidently not," said Snape softly. "It would appear it is now my responsibility to inform the headmaster how…inadequate Professor Lupin is with the management of his classes."

"Professor Snape, sir," said Hermione, no longer able to contain herself, "we've studied Boggarts, Red Caps, Kappas, and Grindylows. We're supposed to start Hinkypunks next!"

"Hold your tongue, Miss. Granger," said Snape, folding him arms. "I did not ask for your summarization of the class. Take out your books and turn to page three hundred and ninety-four."


	19. Snape's Essay

**Chapter Nineteen: Snape's Essay**

"Figures Snape would give us an assignment so far back in the book," said Harry, taking out his parchment and quill as he slumped into the armchair nearest the fireplace. Most of the Gryffindors had retreated to their rooms.

"I wonder why, though," said Hermione, turning to the assigned pages. "He must know we haven't progressed this far into the text—we're only a few months into the school year."

"I'm sure he does," said Harry dully. "He probably just wanted an excuse to take out his hatred for Lupin on his least favorite house."

"Seems likely."

They fell into silence shortly thereafter, both reading the assigned text and scribbling down their essay as they went along.

"You know," said Harry, thoughtfully as he dipped his quill into the ink bottle, "most of the signs used to identify a Werewolf could be mistaken for simply being ill."

"Well, true," said Hermione, "but I think you're forgetting that these signs would by cyclical," she added, pointing at her own textbook and reading aloud. " _Paleness of the skin, signs of irregular sleep, and a loss of physical energy can occur as early as a week leading up to the full moon, and linger for several days past the transformation_. So yes, they would appear ill, but it would be often, regular, and between periods of normalcy."

"Still seems like there is room for error," said Harry.

"Well, outside of actually seeing the person turn into a Werewolf, the only way to make a good guess would be to compare the person's _illness_ to a moon chart."

Harry nodded thoughtfully and resumed reading. He had only made it through the next paragraph however, when Hermione took a sudden, sharp inhale and dropped her quill.

"What is it," asked Harry, slightly alarmed.

"Harry…we just had a full moon," she said quietly.

"So?"

"And Professor Lupin was away..."

Harry met her eyes and had a suspicion of what Hermione was thinking.

"And Snape just happens to assign an essay on identifying Werewolves," said Harry.

"Do you think...," began Hermione, biting her lower lip briefly before rummaging into her packsack for her astronomy charts. She took out a moon chart and quickly found the full moon that had occurred just after Halloween.

"Professor Lupin was definitely ill that week," said Hermione. "Especially during the Quidditch match and after you were hospitalized."

Harry thought for a moment. It seemed so unlikely that a werewolf would even be allowed to teach a school full of children. And then he remembered.

"He looked really pale on the train…"

Hermione nodded in agreement and consulted the moon chart again.

"There was a full moon on the 30th of August."

"But he hasn't missed a class until now," said Harry quickly. "He was never gone at the end of September."

"Full moon fell on a weekend," said Hermione. "It's possible we hadn't noticed his absence."

Hermione went back to the text and read further.

"Look at this," said Hermione, pointing three quarters of the way down. " _Until recent advancements and discoveries in Apothecary sciences, there existed no medicinal or otherwise magical means to cure, prevent, or mitigate Lycanthropy. In 1974, a significant breakthrough was achieved by potioneer Damocles Belby, who had crafted an Aconite-heavy potion, later given the name, Wolfsbane. The Wolfsbane potion is a master-level, brewed consumption mixture that allows the Werewolf to retain his human-mind during transformation, mitigating the predatory nature of the disease. The potion has several distinctive qualities, though the most noted identifier is the faint blue smoke emitted by the mixture."_

"Snape brought Professor Lupin a potion when we were visiting him," said Harry quickly. "Snape told him he had prepared a whole cauldron's worth."

"And Professor Lupin was expecting it."

Neither said anything for a while. Then:

"Would Dumbledore really hire a Werewolf," asked Hermione timidly.

"Dumbledore hired Snape," said Harry, mostly in jest.

"I'm being serious, Harry."

"I know," said Harry quickly. "He was my dad's friend, though. That has to count for something, doesn't it?"

"Maybe," said Hermione. "What if he wasn't a Werewolf then? Maybe it happened during the war? Or after your parents had—"

"—died," finished Harry.

Hermione nodded sadly.

"He protected me from the Dementors," said Harry. "That's a good thing, I think."

"I think so too," said Hermione. "I'm sure most Lycanthropes are genuinely good people outside their transformations."

"If he is a Werewolf, I don't see how he could hide that from Dumbledore," said Harry slowly. "So if Dumbledore knows and hired Professor Lupin anyway, then the staff probably knows too. They all seem to like him, except Snape, which means Dumbledore must not be concerned that Professor Lupin is indeed a wereworlf."

"Also, it would explain why Snape assigned the reading and essay," said Hermione with a nodded agreement. "Maybe he's hoping someone will put two and two together and inform the whole school."

"He wants to force Lupin's resignation," said Harry, his voice suddenly harsh. "Can you imagine what would happen if parents knew?"

"They would be frightened and upset," said Hermione with a sad look. "That wouldn't be right—he's done nothing wrong and he's a great teacher."

"You know, it's possible Professor Lupin isn't a Werewolf at all and has a different illness that is similar to Lycanthropy," said Harry. "He could force Lupin's resignation even if the claim isn't true. All he has to do is get the rumor spread."

"Would Professor Snape really do that?"

"It's no secret he wants that job."

"But to ruin someone else's chance for a good life?"

"You do know Snape doesn't care about any of that, don't you?"

"He is a bit unkind," said Hermione hesitantly, "but I can't imagine Dumbledore standing for that kind of treatment from his staff members."

"Maybe."

"Let's just keep track for now," said Hermione. "We'll keep an eye on him and watch the moon cycle. If it happens again, I think we'll have our answer."

Harry nodded. "We should also look for other illnesses that might be similar to Lycanthropy—just to be sure."

With a silent agreement, they finished their essays in silence and went to bed, both of their minds wandering over the possibility their teacher was a Werewolf.

 **() () ()**

Along with the arrival of winter's first snow atop the mountain caps and the crisp crunch of frost on the castle grounds, Professor Lupin had returned to class the following week, greeted with outcries of injustice and indignation.

"Did anyone inform Professor Snape that we hadn't covered Werewolves, yet," he asked wearily as he surveyed the angry faces looking up at him.

"We did," said Seamus, pounding the table in his half-sitting, half-standing position. "But like normal, he's just a greasy-haired, self-important, git, so he didn't listen."

"That will be ten points from Gryffindor, Seamus," said Lupin sternly. "No matter how much you might disagree with Professor Snape's way of handling the class during my absence, it does not give you free reign to show disrespect." Seamus looked as though he had been slapped in the face.

"But professor, what about the assignment," asked Parvarti. "Do we still have to complete it?"

"We shouldn't have been assigned it in the first place," said Ron, nodding in agreement.

"I shall speak with Professor Snape," said Lupin holding his hands high to quiet the class. "You don't have to complete the essay." Harry felt rather than witnessed Hermione's arm fly into the air beside him.

"Yes, Hermione?"

"Harry and I have already completed the assignment," she said, looking flustered and irritated.

"You can hand it in for a bit of extra credit," said Lupin with an encouraging smile.

"Not that she needs it," whispered Ron from the other side. Harry offered a small smirk in response before handing his completed assignment over to Lupin.

"Now, let's turn our attention to this tricky little creature," said Lupin, pointing to the large glass tank on his desk while the class returned to their usual calm demeanor. The creature—if it could truly be called such—was more bizarre than any Lupin had introduced so far, for it appeared to be made entirely of smoke. It had no discernable face, or snout—or eyes even. The only feature Harry found recognizable was the form of a torso and some kind of head, and two wispy arms that carried a lantern.

"This," said Lupin, his eyes resting fully upon the wisp, "is a Hinkypunk. They are mischievous creatures. Interestingly enough, Newt Scamander has recently suggested it may not be creature at all, but rather, a spirit. Until that conclusion is made, however, we will proceed as though it were creature. Now, can anyone tell me what makes the Hinkypunk potentially dangerous?"

Hermione's arm shot into the air again.

"It lures travelers into bogs with the lantern," said Hermione. "Once close enough, the Hinkypunk will throw flame from the lantern it carries. Some studies have concluded that even the immature Hinkypunk can cause third degree burns."

"Five points to Gryffindor," said Lupin approvingly. "Hinkypunk, like the other creatures we've studied thus far, are very dangerous to the unprepared. Awareness, again, is your greatest advantage. Avoiding Hinkypunk is the best way to mitigate any danger they pose. As Hermione stated, they always wait until they feel you are close enough for them to attack. The more distance you put between them and yourself, therefore, is the best defense. If you have to engage them, there are few things a witch or wizard can do that require very little skill.

"Firstly, never engage the Hinkypunk alone. The more of you there are, the more difficult it is for the Hinkpunk to distract and lure you into a place where you are at a disadvantage. Secondly, the Hinkypunk are extremely vulnerable to the Lumos charm; it will daze them and force them to solidify, allowing you to use other spells to more effect, such as the Knockback Jinx. Upon solidifying, a Hinkypunk will often disappear in a puff of white smoke, long before you will have had to resort to other means. Now, write this down," he concluded, tapping his wand on the blank blackboard. A moment later and the board populated with illustrations and diagrams for properly corning a Hinkypunk.

When class had ended, Lupin held Harry back.

"You know, your father was an exceptional flyer," said Lupin, taking a seat at his desk. "But you, Harry, well…you would have given your father a run for his money."

Harry tried to smile, but the recent loss of his broom, Gryffindor's sound defeat, and his weakness toward the Dementors washed it away quickly.

"I heard about your broomstick too," said Lupin gently. "Is it true Professor Flitwick and Madam Hooch were unable to repair it?"

"It was smashed to bits," mumbled Harry. "It crashed into the Whomping Willow."

"Yes, delightful tree," nodded Lupin. "You know, they planted that tree the same year I started at Hogwarts. Students were always trying to get near enough to touch the trunk until one day a student nearly lost his life. It is truly a frightening tree. No broomstick would survive that."

"Hermione told me you helped keep the Dementors away after I fell."

"Yes, I did _try_ ," said Lupin with a bit of disappointment in his voice. "I am not what one would call an expert at repelling Dementors."

"Hermione mentioned a spell, a Patronus, I think she called it."

"Indeed, it is called the Patronus Charm," said Lupin, preparing himself. "Difficult charm to learn, near impossible to master."

"Professor, I know why they affect me like they do, but, do they usually act like that? You know, attack students and…attack in groups like they did at the match?"

"Dementors are blind," said Lupin quickly. "They don't make distinctions between young and old, child and adult, nor the good from the bad. They are a parasitical creature, Harry—they feed on any source that nourishes their hunger without distinction, without regard, without prejudice. They consume hope and happiness in order to thrive in the emptiness and darkness of humanity's heart. That is where a Dementor finds its true, frightening potential. A world made a reflection of itself; soul-less, devoid, and evil.

"I think the lure of the match was too much for the Dementors to resist," continued Lupin. "They've gone some time now without their usual prey at Azkaban. To answer your other question, though, Dementors _do_ prefer to attack in groups. They seek to overwhelm their would-be victims. Before serving as guard over Azkaban, the Dementors were aligned with Voldemort in the previous war. He utilized their talents with gruesome effect, attacking populated Muggle areas and settlements. Muggles can't see Dementors, as I'm sure you've realized during the Granger's visit."

Harry nodded.

"And if that were not enough, the Dementor still has one power more terrifying than any other," said Lupin, his face pale at the thought. "The Dementor's Kiss."

"What's that?"

"A finishing blow, if you will," said Lupin. "The Dementor lowers itself upon the victim, feeding directly from that individual until there is no fight left. Then, the Dementor sucks out the soul."

"They kill by sucking out souls?"

"No, it's far worse than that, I'm afraid," said Lupin. "The body slips into something like a coma, only the body is awake. The body does not die, as the soul is still earthbound, consumed by the Dementor. It leaves the body as an empty husk. Death would be a kinder fate. And," he added, picking up the day's edition of the Daily Prophet, "that is the fate that awaits Sirius Black, should the Dementor's find him of their own accord."

Harry didn't know what to say. On the one hand, Sirius Black would deserve such a fate, considering he murdered so many innocent people, not to mention, had been his parent's Secret Keeper. And yet, such a fate seemed incredibly cruel. And still, he could make little sense of the way in which Black had treated him the night he had run away from his relatives.

"Yes, a truly terrible fate," said Lupin with a heavy sigh.

"The Patronus Charm," said Harry, wanting to forget about the Dementor's Kiss, "is it really that difficult?"

"Extremely," said Lupin.

"Can you teach me?"

"Hermione made the same request of me before I fell ill," said Lupin with a soft smile. "And I'm afraid I must tell you what I told her; the charm is too difficult for a third year, Harry. It's well above O.W.L. level."

"But what if they come to another match," he asked worriedly. "I can't have that happen again!"

"I don't think you'll have to worry about the Dementors coming to anther match," said Lupin reassuringly. "Professor Dumbledore will be taking more extreme measures to ward the Quidditch Pitch for the rest of the season."

"It's just…I don't what to hear her anymore," he said, finding his eyes watery. He quickly wiped his eyes on his robe sleeve, surprised to see Lupin looking very concerned.

"You…you've heard Lily?"

"Yeah," said Harry. "She was...begging Voldemort not to kill me and…he just laughed and told her to get out of the way…"

Lupin turned away from Harry.

"Professor, I know it'll be hard, but I…I have to try..."

Lupin turned again to look at Harry. His expression was hard to read, but Harry thought he saw a mixture of pity, concern, and…curiousness.

"Alright, Harry," said Lupin slowly. "I will let you try, so long as we both have the understanding that I will end the lessons should it be apparent the charm is too advanced. Agreed?"

"Of course, Professor."

"Good. Unfortunately, we will have to wait until after the holidays. Between my poorly timed illness and the exam preparations of my fifth and seventh year students, I won't have any time until then."

Harry smiled.

"I'll do my best, Professor."

 **() () ()**

"Hermione, you said you'd go to Hogsmeade on the next trip," said Harry, repeating her own words from the last trip she had passed up on.

"It doesn't seem right," she said.

"How is it not right," asked Harry with a roll of his eyes. "Your parents signed your form, yeah? Then you get to go. It's that simple."

"You'd be going if your relatives weren't so miserable," said Ron, chiming in.

"Yes, but that's the point of the form, isn't it," replied Harry, his eyes still glaring into Hermione's. "Any number of parents could have said no to their children. Would you still feel it was unfair if you were going and Malfoy wasn't because his mum didn't sign his form?"

"Well, no," answered Hermione.

"Wouldn't care, I suspect," said Ron with a dreamy gaze. "Git doesn't deserve to leave the castle anyway."

"And that's my point," said Harry with a deep sigh. "It _is_ fair," he added, looking directly to Hermione, this time with what he hoped was an encouraging smile, "so there's no need to feel guilty about it. If you really feel that badly for me, bring me some Butterbeer—I heard it's really good."

"Alright, fine, you win," said Hermione. "But just so we're clear, it's also my choice if I should go to Hogsmeade or not. I might decide I don't want to go next time."

Harry smiled and watched them depart through the Great Hall doors, bundled from head to foot in traveling cloaks, scarves, and gloves. Harry retreated up the marble staircase and headed back to the Gryffindor Common Room, fully intending to look over the broom catalogue Wood had lent him. The Shooting Star he had been flying during practice was dreadful.

However, as he came to the third flood corridor, he found Fred and George standing beside the statue of the hump-backed witch, clearly waiting for someone.

"There you are, Harry," said Fred.

"We've been waiting for you," said George, with a smile Harry did not trust.

"What for," he asked. "I thought you'd be in Hogsmeade like everybody else."

"We'll be along shortly," said Fred.

"But the approaching holidays has put us in a bit of a festive mood, you know—"

"—and thought we'd give you an early Christmas present."

"Er, that's really not necessary, guys," said Harry.

"We disagree," said Fred, and he pulled out a heavily folded, worn sheet of parchment. Harry noticed it was blank. Fred then held out the parchment for Harry to take.

"What am I supposed to do with this?"

Fred smiled, took out his wand and touched the tip to the parchment. He smiled again, and said," I solemnly swear that I am up to no good." From the point of Fred's wand, ink began to spill out onto the old parchment, forming quick, intricate lines, filling the empty spaces with incredible detail. Harry could just make out the shape of a room on the corner of the parchment where Fred's hand had not obstructed. Again, Fred pushed the parchment into Harry's hands, who took this time with awe. As he took hold of the parchment, words began to form in elegant, swirling green letters. It said:

 _Messrs. Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs_

 _Purveyors of Aids to Magical Mischief-Makers_

 _are proud to present_

 _THE MARAUDER'S MAP_

It was indeed a map, showing every detail of Hogwarts and the grounds. He flipped over several flaps, finding every floor, every familiar corridor in its proper location. And then several dots started to occupy rooms and hallways. A dot labeled _Professor Dumbledore_ in his study, his little dot pacing back and forth.

"Is this really—"

"—Dumbledore, pacing in his study," asked George. "We don't usually check up on him, mind you. It's Filch, Mrs. Norris, Peeves, and Snape we watch out for."

Harry's eyes found several passages that appeared to leave the castle.

"Do these—"

"—lead to Hogsmeade," asked Fred, tracing the passage right next to them all the way to the village. "Yes, they are."

"Seven in total," confirmed George. He pointed to four separate ones, adding, "Filch and the staff know about these. And this one," he said, pointing at the one on the fourth floor, "is caved in."

"But this one," said Fred, pointing to the passage near them, "leads right into the cellar of Honeydukes."

"Where did you find this," asked Harry, astounded. "And does it really show everyone in the castle?"

"Nicked it from Filch during our first year," said George. "Found a drawer marked _Confiscated and Highly Dangerous_ , so naturally, we couldn't resist. We doubt Filch ever figured out how to use it—if he had he's use it, not store it—but he probably knew what it was. The man is not dumb."

"Anyway, yes, it does show everyone in the castle, as well as the grounds," said Fred. "Just don't forget to wipe it clean after you've done your business."

"Simply point your wand at it and say, _mischief managed_."

"We'll be leaving you now, Harry," said George, tapping the hump of the one-eyed witch's statue.

"See you in Hogsmeade," said Fred in a whisper.

"Merry Christmas, Harry," they said together.

Harry continued to hold the map, his hands slightly shaking. He licked his lips which seemed to have turned quite dry during the twin's reveal.

On one hand, he had resolved to keep his head down and on the narrow. On the other—despite his earlier arguments to Ron and Hermione both—the Dursleys would likely never have signed his form even if nothing eventful had ever occurred to his Aunt Marge.

 _Should I go?_


	20. A Minister, A Witch, A Half-Goblin

Hello! Firstly, my deepest apologies for the long absence of updates. I was given the opportunity to finally live my dream of teaching, so my wife and I moved to another state this past year, along with our now two-year old son. Life is fast and crazy at the moment, but with the school year winding down, updates will resume a regular schedule once again.

Thank you all for your patience-especially those who have messaged on either story.

Without further ado, the next installment:

 **Chapter Twenty: A Minister, a Witch, a Half-Goblin, a Werewolf, and a Giant Walk into a Tavern...**

Harry stared at the tiny black dot labelled with his name on the map. He could see the hidden pathway on the worn parchment, concealed behind the statue of the one-eyed witch, but as he surveyed the stone figure, he found nothing: no latch, lever, door knob, or anything else that might open the pathway leading to Honeydukes. He peered down at the map again, surprised this time to find a small bubble appear next to his little dot. He watched as letter-by-letter, the word, Dissendium, formed inside the bubble. His heart started to pound.

Just this one time, he thought, remembering sharply his promise to Hermione. Just a quick look around is all. Harry took off to fetch his Invisibility Cloak—just in case—and returned to the one-eyed witch. Harry checked the map once more, ensured no one was nearby, then, fingers trembling with excitement, muttered, "Dissendium," under his breath.

With a slow, creaking sound, the hump of the statue opened wide, revealing an unlit, yet large-enough opening in the castle wall. Harry clambered inside, his hands easily latching onto the rough stone as he pulled himself into the tunnel. As soon as he was inside, the opening closed shut, leaving Harry in complete darkness.

"Lumos," he whispered, holding his wand as high as it would go. The tip of his wand ignited in a brilliant, focused beam casting light all around him. He had climbed onto a small, stone platform, from which one side led back down into the hump of the one-eyed witch, while on the opposite side, a well-worn descent of smooth stone led toward Hogsmeade.

Harry slid down the smooth stone and into the damp tunnel. He tapped the tip of his wand to the map, whispered, "mischief managed," and watched as the ink faded from the parchment as though it had been absorbed. Then, wand held high and out in front, Harry started toward Honeydukes.

The winding, twisting tunnel was surprisingly long. Harry soon lost track of time as he traversed the uneven ground. The underground passage snaked like an old river, with wide arching bends. Harry had little doubt it was longer than the direct path above ground. Eventually, the ground rose steadily, inch-by-inch with the welcomed scent of sweets mixed with the stale air. Harry was very glad when his wand light met with the flickering rays of candlelight that escaped through the trapdoor of Honeyduke's cellar: his calves had started to burn.

Harry extinguished his wand light and lifted the trapdoor as quietly as he could. It was not a heavy door, made of aged wood and rusty iron bands. The cellar was filled with stacked wooden crates, various sizes of glass jars filled with colorful assortments of candy not seen on the Hogwart's Express trolley. Not wanting to be found in the cellar with no explainable reason for being there, Harry quickly found the dusty stairs ascending to the store.

Harry then nudged the door open a sliver, enough to see the brightly lit saleroom. Dozens upon dozens of students flooded the store, their voices indistinguishable from the next. They were so loud, Harry effortlessly opened the creaking door without notice. He shuffled quickly into the crowd of students with not one giving him a second glance or questioning his appearance there. Harry allowed himself a slim smile as he realized that—short of a teacher spotting him—he was quite safe to wander about without worrying too much of being reported. He went from one row of shelves to the next, his eyes darted up and down the aisles for any sign of Ron or Hermione. Finally, at the last row, Harry heard a familiar voice.

"I don't think Harry will like any of these," said Hermione as she knelt down to examine the offerings presented on the lowest shelf. Harry ducked behind the shelf on the other side and crawled along the floor. Hermione was looking at a jar of blood-flavored lollipops. He watched Hermione's nose scrunch. Her eyes swiveled to the next item.

"These are brilliant," came Ron's voice, floating from the aisle previous. He carried a very large glass jar in his hands, filled with what looked like—from a distance—large, overgrown beetles.

"Eww," said Hermione, her eyes wide with disgust. "Ron, those are cockroaches."

"Chocolate-Covered Cockroach Clusters," corrected Ron happily. "He seems to like the chocolate frogs and I recon these'll taste just the same." Hermione snatched the jar and read the ingredient list. Harry watched as her lips moved quickly. A moment later and Hermione shoved the jar back into Ron's hands.

"Gross," she said with a fierce whisper. "These are made with discarded cockroach parts—leftovers of unusable potion's ingredients!"

"Come off it," said Ron, his voice filled with doubt.

"Look," she said, turning the jar in his hand and point to the label. Harry watched Ron's face turn green.

"Yeah, maybe you're right."

"She's absolutely right," said Harry through the shelf. Hermione dropped to her knees again and looked between the shelf and tops of the jars.

"Harry?!"

"Hermione."

"What are you doing in here?"

"Just thought I'd take a quick look around is all," he said, doing his best to resist the smile building in his cheeks.

"Blimey," said Ron, stepping around the corner and looking down at him. "How'd you get past the Dementors?"

"Long story," said Harry. "Let's go somewhere and I'll tell you about it."

"Absolutely not," said Hermione and her head poked around Ron's torso. "Harry, you need to get back to the castle before someone sees you! You'll be in so much trouble."

"Not likely," said Harry quickly. "Not in a crowd like this. Besides, all I want is to do a quick look about, maybe get one of those Butterbeers I hear everyone talking about, and I'll go back to the castle—promise."

"You're not going to report him, are you, Hermione," asked Ron. "It's Christmas, you know." Harry offered Hermione the warmest smile he could muster. Her amber brown eyes held his gaze, and for a moment, Harry felt the familiar sensation that she could read every one of his thoughts—just like those rare occasions with Dumbledore.

"What if Black comes, Harry? What if this is the moment he's been waiting for?"

Harry's excitement deflated. He looked around the storefront, his eyes shifting from one group of students to the next. What if Black had been waiting for this moment? Had Black allowed him to live in the hope of staging a massacre far eclipsing Pettigrew's death, with he, Harry, as the glorious center piece? Harry forced himself to swallow.

"I wasn't really thinking about Black at the moment," admitted Harry.

"Hermione, look," said Ron, "you're right that Black might be looking for a chance like this." He too seemed to sense the need to tread carefully with Hermione. "But you saw the posted signs—Dementors are patrolling the streets at night, and I don't think Black is crazy enough to wander about in the daylight, do you? Remember when he broke into Hogwarts? He waited until night. Harry will be back inside the castle long before then. Just let him come and have a drink at the Three Broomsticks. It's Christmas."

Hermione didn't look at Ron as he said this, but her gaze upon Harry softened and her shoulders relaxed. Then, she gave Harry a small smile.

"It is Christmas, after all," she said. "But Harry, promise me you won't pull something like this again, at least until Black has been caught!"

"Promise."

"Off to the Three Broomsticks then," shouted Ron, throwing a victorious fist into the air.

The Three Broomsticks was overly crowded. Loud and festive conversation bounced from table to table, which made Harry very confident in his present anonymity. No one would notice that he, Ron, and Hermione had taken a small table at the far corner of the tavern.

"Why didn't Fred and George give the map to me," asked Ron as he set the pints of Butterbeer on the table for them. "I'm only their brother!" Harry did not comment. Hermione was looking over the map—her butterbeer completely ignored. She wore an expression halfway between admiration and apprehension.

"This is dangerous," said Hermione. "I mean, the spell work is…amazing but, Harry, if this fell into the wrong hands…"

"I'm not going to just leave it lying around," said Harry defensively. "I'm going to put it with my cloak when I return to the castle. This way, if Sirius Black does sneak into the castle again, I'll know where he is!"

"Which is why you should give it to Professor Dumbledore," pleaded Hermione.

"And then I'd have to tell him who I got it from and…I don't think I could outright lie to Dumbledore."

"Well, alright then," said Hermione resignedly. "But you will tell Dumbledore or one of the teachers about it if Black enters the castle, won't you?"

"Promise," said Harry. Hermione returned the map and Harry wiped it clean before stuffing it into his pocket. The issue of the map settled, Harry turned his attention to the Butterbeer. Harry lifted the tankard of amber liquid to his lips and drank; it was sweet and warm. Butterscotch and caramel danced on his tongue as an incredible warmth spread down his throat, into his chest, and finally into every limb in his body. The cold of winter had melted away. It was then, just as Harry was beginning to think the holiday could not have gotten off to a better start, the doors of the tavern swung open with a loud bang.

"Harry, get down!" Hermione shoved hard on his left shoulder, forcing him from his chair. Harry ducked under the table, his forehead smacking into the table. Eyes watering, he looked in every direction, confused and alarmed by Hermione's sudden urging. Hagrid stood framed in the doorway, his hair, beard, and dirty brown jacket dusted with large snowflakes. A flurry of snow and a sharp winter breeze blasted into the entry of the tavern. At first, Harry wondered what Hermione was so worried about; Hagrid was the last professor likely to turn them in.

"Hagrid, you're blocking the doorway," said Professor McGonagall, slipping past the giant as she stepped into the warmth. She was wrapped in a heavy green travelling cloak with red lining around hems.

"Sorry 'bout tha', professor," said Hagrid smartly. He stepped to the side only to bump into one of the nearby tables, toppling drinks.

"Sorry, sorry," said Hagrid, waving his hands apologetically. "Bit cramped, yer know."

"Hagrid, you really should try and be more observant," said the squeaky voice of Professor Flitwick as he too hobbled up the stairs. "You're a professor now, you know."

"O' course, Professor."

"Professors, relax, it's Christmas," said another man, stepping through the doors. He wore a lime green bowler hat and a heavy tweed traveling cloak rested loosely on his shoulders. Harry dropped his bottle of Butterbeer spilling the butterscotch liquid across the floor and swore to himself. The only person missing that could make matters worse for Harry—should he be discovered—would be Professor Snape joining the unexpected entourage.

"I'm sure when one is as er…gifted in height as Hagrid, getting around takes a bit of extra effort," said another voice: a very weak, hoarse voice.

That's Professor Lupin, groaned Harry inwardly. Sure enough, Lupin—looking as tired, worn-out, and ragged as ever—stepped out from behind the group.

"For us, perhaps," chimed McGonagall, "But Hagrid's had sufficient time in his own body to become proficient in walking, I think."

"Always was a bit clumsy, ter be honest," acknowledged Hagrid, his cheeks turning a dark shade of rose. "Me da' always said I was clumsy."

"And about to be clumsier with the mead you'll consume," quipped Flitwick with a chuckle. Everyone laughed, including McGonagall—a rarity to Hogwarts students.

"That may be all of us soon enough," said Fudge soberly. "Let us find a table. Ah, m'dear Rosmerta!"

"Minster, how delightful to see you!" Madam Rosmerta hustled from behind the counter and ushered them toward the only remaining free table in the tavern; right next to Harry, Ron, and Hermione. Harry heard Hermione mutter something and watched as the table cloth on their table enlarge so that it extended almost to the floor, a good foot longer than the others and providing Harry cover from casual passerby.

"Hello, m'dear," said Cornelius with a short, but polite bow.

"You're here to send the Dementors back to Azkaban, I hope."

"I'm afraid not, madam" said Fudge.

"But you must know how terrible they are for business!

"Rosmerta, my dear, they only patrol the village at night—"

"—which is when I make my living!"

"I don't like them anymore than you do, Rosmerta, m'dear, I assure you," said Fudge, his face turning a shade of red and pink. He had taken to twirling his green bowler hat as he spoke. "But with a killer like Black on the loose, I'd happily accommodate the inconvenience for a spell."

"Do you really think Black is hiding in Hogsmeade?"

"He very well might be," said Fudge. "I trust you heard what happened up at the castle during Halloween?"

"I did read something in the papers, yes!"

"Well, then, there you are," said Fudge with a nervous smile. "Best to be proactive, you know, rather than reactionary. We all know what Black is capable of doing, after all."

"I still have a hard time believing it, myself," she said, her gaze resting on the very table he, Ron, and Hermione occupied. "The number of times I saw them here." She looked at Remus with a sad smile. "You all used to make me laugh so much."

Remus looked as though he might be sick at that very moment.

"Yes, very sad indeed," said Fudge, looking uncomfortable and unsure how to comfort Remus. He gave an appreciative nod to Hagrid who clapped Lupin on the back.

"I suppose I can tolerate the Dementors a little while longer," said Rosmerta sadly. "But I hope he's caught soon."

"I'll drink to that," said Fudge happily. "Now, is there a free table where we might have a private conversation?

"Upstairs, of course," she replied, leading the way. "Though, I'm rather curious; you've never asked for such accommodations before."

"These are unusual times," said Fudge. "Why don't you join us, Rosmerta?"

"I'd be delighted."

() () ()

"I'll never forget that day," said Fudge, topping off his second brandy. "We thought it was over. You-Know-Who was gone. Death Eaters were being rounded up. Even with so many lives lost, our world started to hope and dream again. And then all those Muggles, dead, in the middle of London. It was carnage. There wasn't a body left fully intact. And Pettigrew—he got the full blast."

Harry had listened for more than an hour, hidden under his Invisibility Cloak, tucked into the corner as tightly as he could. Nothing of Fudge's conversation regarding Sirius Black was new information: Between Dumbledore and Professor Lupin, he knew—give or take a few of the more intricate details—the full story. But there was a sense of satisfaction in hearing the re-counted version from Fudge's perspective. Harry could see how Fudge had become Minister of Magic. Fudge wasn't as gifted an orator as Dumbledore, but he had his own way with words none-the-less. Professor Flitwick had added his expertise to the Fidelius Charm used to hide his parents.

"It's an extraordinarily complex charm," Flitwick had said, his eyes and forehead visible over the table. "Few wizards are truly capable of performing the spell, given the demanding ritual requirements. While no spell is without its weaknesses, the Fidelius has no equal in terms of protective qualities or limited vulnerabilities. The charm is breached one of to two ways: the protected wishing to be concealed no longer, or the Secret Keeper revealing the location. It is in the Secret Keeper where both the greatest strength and weakness of the charm exists. So long as the Secret Keeper refuses to divulge the information—which must be freely given—the protected cannot be found."

Harry found the details of the Fidelius Charm fascinating, but was even more appreciative of Hagrid's tale—which, aside from giving Harry more affection toward the gentle giant than ever before—brought one revelation that both Dumbledore and Professor Lupin had neglected mentioning.

"The house was destroyed," Hagrid had said, his eyes swollen and watery as he held his tankard to his chest. "Dumbledore 'ad sent me there, see, and I was ter bring him to his aunt and uncles 'ouse. Bathilda was there too—she lived nearby, you know—she…she was the one who 'eard the explosion and called Dumbledore. He was jus' a tiny little thing, cryin' reachin' fer his mum and da'.

Harry was careful as he wiped away his own tears. But Hagrid's tale had not ended.

"And then Sirius Black turns up on that flyn' motorbike he used ter ride all the time. He says to me, 'give Harry to me, Hagrid, I'm his Godfather, I'll look after 'im now,' but I 'ad me orders from Dumbledore. In the end, he gave me the motorbike. Said he wouldn't be needin' it anymore."

That Sirius Black had been—and remained to this day, as McGonagall had put it—his Godfather was not completely unexpected. Black had been his father's best friend, after all.

"Does the boy know," asked Rosmerta. Lupin was first to speak.

"Professor Dumbledore and I have talked to Harry a good deal; he knows the story. He knows that Sirius, Peter, and I were friends of his father. He knows what Black did. As far as Sirius being his Godfather, though, Harry remains uninformed. I—I didn't have the heart to tell him, to be truthful. And I think Professor Dumbledore feels the same. Harry's already been through enough."

"If half the rumors are true—about all he's done since returning to our world—then I would agree," said Rosmerta, serving another round of mead to Flitwick and McGonagall.

"And how does the boy get along at school," asked Fudge.

"He's very bright," said Lupin at once. "He has a natural talent in dealing with dark creatures. I've seen nothing short of exemplary work."

"Potter lacks his father's natural intuition with Transfiguration," said McGonagall, briskly. "In the past, he has not, I believe, put his best efforts into his academic study. However, I've noticed a significant change this year."

"Agreed," said Flitwick with an approving nod. "I've found his charms work to be acceptable—not quite his mother's flair for spellwork, but certainly far from the worst. This year has seen a marked improvement though—he may prove us wrong yet. At any rate, it is rather unfair to compare him to Lily and James: as Professor Lupin noted, perhaps it is Defense Against the Dark Arts where Mr. Potter will outperform his parents?"

"He's not too shabby with magical creatures, ter be honest," said Hagrid. "He 'ad absolutely no trouble at all with the Hippogriff." Everyone at the table smiled, except Fudge.

"Ah yes," said the minister. "You know, Hagrid, the incident with young Mr. Malfoy is causing quite the row at the Ministry."

"Aye, I know it," said Hagrid, looking downcast and into his tankard. "I jus' wanted the students ter be excited about the class an' all. I'm sorry it's causin' ya trouble."

"These things have a way or working out the way they are supposed to," said Fudge. "But I hope you'll be a bit more careful with your other lessons."

"O' course, Minister."

"Well, I am glad to hear that Harry is doing well, given the state of everything that has happened, particularly over the summer," said Fudge, swallowing hard. "I sense he doesn't get along well with his relatives. The Junior Head of the Accidental Magic Reversal Department informed me that the uncle has a nasty temper."

"Harry tells me they don't like magic," said Lupin. "Lily didn't talk much about her sister. They had grown apart quite severely when she started attending Hogwarts. I know it upset her a fair number of times."

"I've not returned there since the night we left Potter on the doorstep," said McGonagall, setting her glass down harder than she probably meant to. Naturally, Professor Dumbledore has someone who watches at a distance. Potter seems to suffer mostly from indifference and unfair treatment when compared to that of his cousin. But, as Dumbledore reminded me of that night, they were the only family he had left."

"Yes, very tragic," said Fudge sourly. "If Black hadn't been—well, it's hardly the point, is it? If not for Black, Harry might still be living with his parents, after all, and we wouldn't be having this conversation." Fudge looked grimly at the shallow pool of brandy left in his glass. "Then again, You-Know-Who met his downfall that night. I don't know if Fate is Harry's friend or foe, to be honest. But our world owes a debt of gratitude it will never be able to repay."

Everyone at the table raised their glasses to an unsaid toast, bundled and fastened their robes, and left Harry alone to his thoughts.


End file.
